


The Name of this Thing is not Love

by fictionalaspect



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco, Young Veins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, First Time, M/M, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:26:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm telling you," Jon says, and clicks his tongue behind his teeth like a disappointed grandmother. "There's a whole other world out there, man. You need to expand your horizons a little."</p>
<p>"That's nice," Spencer says. It gives him a weird jolt in his stomach, to hear Jon spell it out like that. "Thank you for your concern. My sexuality is fine, thanks. It doesn't need your sympathy or your support."</p>
<p>"It might get you laid," Jon says.</p>
<p>"I get laid," Spencer says. "Sometimes."</p>
<p>"No, you don't," Jon says. "You think very hard about it, decide it isn't worth it, and then you go home and order Chinese."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Name of this Thing is not Love

**Author's Note:**

> A few months ago, reni_days posted some snippets of possibly the most wonderful thing I'd read in a long time; I was completely taken with this story she'd created, but sadly, she informed me she had no intention of ever finishing it. I flailed at her a lot; she emailed me the first 7,000 or so words and told me I could do whatever I wanted with it. This is the result.
> 
> Reni, thank you for graciously allowing me to play in your sandbox for a while. You're a sweetheart, and I had so much fun writing this for you. Thank you also to harborshore for a seriously amazing beta; any remaining mistakes are entirely my own fault
> 
> Update: There is a now a wonderful podfic of this story by pennyplainknits available [here](http://pennyplainknits.livejournal.com/300277.html)!

"You're not experimental," Brendon says, car keys jangling in his hand. "You are an awesome drummer, and you make really good lasagna, and you pay your bills on time, but you're not the experimental type."

"Fuck you, yes I am," Spencer says. They've been arguing for probably a good half an hour over Spencer's new drum track, which Spencer thinks is cool and Brendon wants to be more...something. Spencer just likes a steady beat, okay? "I wrote an album. When I was sixteen. That's fucking experimental, huh? Yeah. What now?"

"So did I, " Brendon says, but he's grinning. "Do you want a cookie?"

"No," Spencer says, and rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Maybe I'll look at it tomorrow." When he opens Brendon's passenger side door, the hinges creak a little.

"It's not about your drumming," Brendon says, very seriously, during a pause in-between songs that neatly lines up with a red light. He drums his hands on the steering wheel as he talks. "Your drumming is awesome, okay, you know that, I just want it to be more, like, atmospheric, maybe--"

"Ryan, is that you?" Spencer mutters, and Brendon snorts, loudly.

"Oooh, low blow," Brendon says. "I'm not that bad. Yet. Shit, am I really being that bad?"

"I'm kidding," Spencer says, because he is, mostly. Working with Brendon is totally awesome except when, in an ironic twist of fate, he utterly fails to verbalize things. It doesn't happen that often, but now is one of those times, and Spencer's not a mind-reader. "Maybe you should lay down the track and then I can listen to it and work with it. If you drop that last chorus, it's going to come out all uneven. I'll have to end like, a quarter way through a measure."

"God forbid," Brendon murmurs. "That might end up being experi--"

"Fuck you," Spencer says, and laughs.

\---

The thing is, Brendon has a point.

It's not that he's boring, exactly—or at least, he doesn't like to think so—it's just. Spencer doesn't mind things being both awesome and totally stable. He spends enough time being uprooted and rushing around when they're out on the road. Brendon thrives on it, feeds off of it, but Spencer really enjoys coming home to a routine and if that makes him kind of old and lame, well.

Okay.

\---

Somehow it turns into a conversation with Jon, who also accuses him of being lame and boring.

Which is funny, considering.

"Says the dude who lives with his girlfriend and his cats," Spencer says. "Oh, wait, sorry. Dog and cats. I always forget about Marley."

"Marley is not a cat," Jon says, and Spencer can hear his frown all the way in California. "Don't make fun of his issues, dude, that's not cool."

"Says the man who gave him those issues," Spencer says. "Nature versus Nurture, dude. Accept responsibility for your actions and learn to let go. It's the only way."

"He's just a little confused," Jon says. "He has species dismorphic disorder."

"You have lame-ass dismorphic disorder," Spencer says.

Jon retaliates with the fact that even if he wears hand-knitted sweaters, he's not so boring that he's never even kissed another dude.

"I'm telling you," Jon says, and clicks his tongue behind his teeth like a disappointed grandmother. "There's a whole other world out there, man. You need to expand your horizons a little."

"That's nice," Spencer says. It gives him a weird jolt in his stomach, to hear Jon spell it out like that. "Thank you for your concern. My sexuality is fine, thanks. It doesn't need your sympathy or your support."

"It might get you laid," Jon says.

"I get laid," Spencer says. "Sometimes."

"No, you don't," Jon says. "You think very hard about it, decide it isn't worth it, and then you go home and order Chinese."

"Shut up," Spencer mutters, because it's nothing if not an accurate assessment of the situation. He wipes his sweaty palm on his jeans. "It's not always Chinese."

Through the phone line, he can hear Jon laughing at him.

\---

Spencer knows Jon was just kidding. He knows this, and yet he can't stop thinking about it. It's a frustrating itch at the back of his mind. He suspects all of his bandmates, current and former, think he's missing out on something.

Seriously, though. Who the hell would Spencer have experimented with?

Ryan's always been the only person he could even conceive of trusting that much, and while Ryan occasionally turns his attentions to the male gender, he's never shown any interest in doing that with Spencer.

(Incidentally, Spencer is, like, eighty-seven percent certain that Ryan's first kiss was actually from a boy. Ryan swears it was Marcy Goldfarb from up the street when he was fifteen years old, but Ryan is a known liar.)

Which, hey. Fair enough. It's not like Spencer is dying to know, anyway. He likes girls, he's happy with girls. If anything, it's...it's like, idle curiosity. That's what it is. Maybe sometimes he looks at Ryan and thinks, _I wonder what it'd be like to kiss him_, but it's just a passing thought.

It doesn't mean anything.

And yeah, sometimes he used to catch sight of Jon's stubble and wonder—idly—how it might feel against his skin. And sometimes Brendon smiles a certain way, or his pants hang just a little too low on his hips, or he stumbles around all sleepy and tousled, and Spencer loses his train of thought for a second or two, but really, what does it matter?

Jon and Brendon are right, no matter how much he hates to admit it. It's just not really his style.

\---

It would never have gone anywhere if it wasn't for Ryan Ross.

(Sometimes, Spencer thinks his whole life can be basically summed up with that sentence.)

 

They're at a party in L.A., someplace with tiny hanging pagoda lights and fancy top-shelf drinks set up on a slab of polished stone on the patio. Spencer is bored and tired of talking to people, and the top-shelf drinks are good, but they're not amazing. He peeks around a few corners, goes up to tip-toe to peer above the crowd, but it's not until he stumbles out into the tiny, underlit garden that he finds Ryan.

It's not the first time Ryan has hooked up with a guy. That much Spencer knows for certain. It's just that he's never actually seen it.

It's not like Ryan and the guy are, like, half-naked and grinding, or anything outrageous like that. They're just kissing—admittedly, it's pretty heated kissing—and Spencer happens to walk in right as Ryan's climbing into the dude's lap.

Spencer pauses and stares, peering out into the semi-darkness. The guy has one hand on Ryan's ass and one hand in Ryan's long curls and he's tipping his head back and Ryan bites under his ear and--yeah. Spencer should probably just leave.

He sneaks away before Ryan notices, and feels momentarily vindicated. No harm, no foul.

Except.

There's a big difference between knowing something intellectually, and seeing it firsthand. The image is still burning in his brain when he pulls into his own driveway after the flight back to find Brendon in his apartment. His wetsuit is in Spencer's shower and he's wearing one of Spencer's shirts and rummaging through Spencer's fridge, like he magically expects sandwiches to appear. Spencer wants to point out that it never works for him, and also Brendon should really consider calling first, but he knows it's a losing battle.

"Hey. How's Ryan?" Brendon asks cheerfully. His hair is wet and he's bouncing a little on his toes, still riding his post-surfing high.

Spencer flushes, then catches himself looking at Brendon's mouth and flushes harder. "He's...good," he mumbles awkwardly. "Uh. Is that my shirt?"

Brendon makes innocent eyes at Spencer, and ignores the question. "Oh yeah? What's he doing out there?"

It's Spencer's turn to ignore the question. "You came into my apartment and stole my shirt."

Brendon narrows his eyes, and Spencer narrows his right back, and it's a standoff. Brendon loses, because Spencer is way better at staredowns than anybody, even when he's a little off his game.

"I'm not giving it back, and you can't make me," is Brendon's eventual argument. "Your apartment is way closer, and I was all wet."

There are at least fourteen scathing retorts that Spencer is supposed to be making right now, starting with insulting Brendon's maturity level and then eventually lowering himself to match it, but Spencer is abruptly distracted by the smell of Brendon's shampoo. He's always liked the smell of it, he steals it regularly for his own use and always tells himself he's going to buy a bottle, but for some reason all he can think right now is that it smells like Brendon. It's sort of making his stomach tingle and his brain wander off in directions it shouldn't.

"...Fine," Brendon huffs, pouting and yanking Spencer's shirt up over his head. "You don't have to be so touchy about it, Jesus."

He marches off, shirtless, and Spencer is left standing, bemused, in the middle of the hallway, clutching the discarded shirt in one hand.

Dude. He hadn't even said anything. His expression must have been way fiercer than he'd thought it was, though, for Brendon to just cave like that.

"I was kidding," Spencer calls out, to his apartment at large.

"No you weren't," Brendon says, reappearing in his own, slightly damp t-shirt. "That was your patented _I'm going to kill you_ expression."

"It was an accident," Spencer says. "I'm just--sorry. Long day." He holds the shirt out to Brendon, but Brendon waves him off. "It's fine," Brendon says. "I think I'm going to just go home. I was going to see if you maybe wanted to get some food--"

"We can get food," Spencer says, and then frowns. "Wait. Didn't you have a, a something tonight?" He doesn't say _date_, because Brendon doesn't exactly date. As far as Spencer can tell, Brendon just has casual sex with people. The 'date' part has always seemed entirely optional.

"Oh, no," Brendon says. "I did, but Matt called me this morning and said that we needed to talk about shit? I guess it's kind of serious, with this girl he's seeing."

"Right," Spencer says. "So, what, scratch one off the list?" He raises an eyebrow at Brendon and smiles, so Brendon knows he's just teasing.

"Always room for more," Brendon shrugs. He ducks his head, like he's embarrassed.

Spencer reaches out to ruffle Brendon's hair and then he stops, because an idea has just occurred to him. It slides into his head fully-formed, silky and tempting, and laced with all sorts of fascinating new implications.

Brendon's bisexual.

Brendon's bisexual. And he's safe, and he's trustworthy, and he's one of Spencer's best friends in the world—probably is his best friend, next to Ryan. He'd probably be totally up for a little experimentation on Spencer's part. Spencer has heard him deliver entire soliloquies about how much he adores making out.  
And even if Brendon said no, he would never, ever hold it against Spencer for asking. He'd make fun of him, sure, but Brendon would be genuinely pleased that Spencer's testing his boundaries.

Spencer isn't actually sure why this idea never occurred to him _before._

Except, you know, for the part about how humiliating it would be to actually ask him, and how Spencer is not—as far as he can tell—anything even remotely like Brendon's "type," and what if he says no because he just finds Spencer completely and totally unattractive, and what if he says yes, but then everything's weird afterward and they still have to live on, like, a bus together, and—

It's possible that Spencer's subconscious has been toying with this idea a little longer than Spencer had realized, to have already compiled such an impressive array of preemptive freakouts about it.

"So, sandwiches?" Brendon says, and Spencer snaps back to the present. His hand is still hanging awkwardly in mid-air, but Brendon hasn't seemed to notice.

"I think," Spencer says, and then he realizes that going somewhere with Brendon isn't the best idea, at the moment. He needs some time to process. "Maybe not today," Spencer finishes. "I'm really tired, all of a sudden."

"Airplanes are shitty like that," Brendon agrees, and Spencer nods. "Alright. You want me to bring something back for you, though? I can just let myself in and drop it off."

"That would be awesome," Spencer says. "Yes. Thank you." He really is tired, even if his brain suddenly feels like he's spinning in concentric circles. He wants to just lay down and turn off for a while.

"Italian?" Brendon says. "Meatball? Sausage? What do you want?"

"Turkey, extra meat, no mayo," Spencer says.

"I'll give you extra meat," Brendon says. "Lettuce? Tomato?"

"Um," Spencer says. "What?"

"You want extra meat," Brendon says patiently. "Do you also want vegetables? Or is it like, all meat, all the time today?"

"Vegetables. Yes." Spencer says. "I like those."

"Okay," Brendon says. "I'll be back in a few."

"Uh-huh," Spencer says. He doesn't stop blushing for a full ten minutes after Brendon leaves.

\---

 

Spencer spends the next three weeks surreptitiously watching Brendon's every move when they're together. Despite Spencer having his own place, and Brendon trying to help Shane get ready to move, they're together pretty much every day, even when they aren't working.

He could actually do this.

Spencer starts making a mental list, adding up the pros and cons as they occur to him. 'Potentially ego-scarring embarrassment 'goes in the 'con' category, along with 'breaking up the band.' On the pro side, Spencer comes up with 'orgasms,' and 'Brendon is hot.'

In the end, it's not a particularly hard decision.

"What's it like?" he finds himself asking. They're sitting on Brendon's living room floor, an open pizza box taking up most of the coffee table in front of them. In the background, some idiot in a tutu and a Superman cape is trying out for American Idol. He sings like a donkey giving birth.

"What's what like?" Brendon glowers at the singing Superman donkey. He always takes this part of the show very personally, getting angry at the people who treat it like a big stupid joke, and, one on memorable occasion, actually tearing up on behalf of the people who genuinely think they have a chance, only to have their dreams cruelly crushed on national TV. Spencer is considering forbidding him to watch the audition rounds.

"The gay sex thing," he clarifies. It comes out surprisingly nonchalant. Spencer gives himself a silent victory point. So far, so good.

Brendon turns away from the screen, successfully distracted. His expression is sort of a cross between amusement and incredulity, but he doesn't seem particularly shocked or appalled.

"It's like sex, mostly," Brendon tells him lightly. He seems a little bemused. "But. You know. With boys."

"Yes," Spencer says patiently. "I know that. I meant--well. You know what I meant."

"Actually," Brendon points out mildly, "I kind of don't. What's it like, that's kind of a...I mean, what do you want to know? It's too broad. What's straight sex like? It's not something you can just...tell somebody."

Spencer pauses, because that's a valid point.

"Okay," he says slowly, a moment later. His heart is pounding in his ears, and his lungs feel tight. He keeps his eyes locked on the TV screen. "Is it something you can...show somebody?"

In the silence that follows, a woman with pink hair and a voice like gravel in a vacuum cleaner warbles her way through what might be "Amazing Grace." Or it might be the Norwegian national anthem. It's impossible to say.

"Spencer," Brendon says quietly, and Spencer swallows thickly, but doesn't take his eyes off the screen.

"Wow, she sucks. I can't tell if she's doing that on purpose, or one of the ones who really thinks—" he says unsteadily, but he cuts himself off abruptly when Brendon turns off the TV.

"Spencer," he repeats, and this time, Spencer forces himself to turn and look.

Brendon doesn't look like he wants to laugh at Spencer, or like he's horrified or repulsed by the idea or anything else. He looks..."blindsided" would be a good word, and so would "uncertain," and even "nervous."

"I want—" Spencer exhales sharply, and just...throws it out there. It's too late to back down now, anyway. "I'm curious," he admits, dropping his gaze. "Uh. Yeah. And I mean like, no pressure! No pressure. It just kind of thought maybe you could--I mean, we could--"

Brendon's hand covers Spencer's on the floor where he's aimlessly plucking at carpet fibers, and Spencer snaps his mouth closed on the remaining nervous babble that wants to pour out.

"Hey," Brendon says, and he sounds a little unsteady, too. It makes Spencer feel a little better. "Hey, Spence. It's okay."

"Okay," Spencer says. "Right."

"Listen," Brendon fumbles. "I—um. I—I'm totally. Like. Honored? I know, I'm lame or whatever, it's just. A lot of trust. And I...I get that, okay?"

"But you don't want to," Spencer finishes. "Okay, I mean, I figured--yeah. It's okay! I told you, no pressure--"

"What?" Brendon says. "No, that's not what I--I mean, yes. Shit. I'm trying to say 'yes', Spence."

"Wait," Spencer says, in the middle of suggesting they never speak of this ever again. "Wait, yes?"

"Yeah." Brendon laughs again, ducking his head almost shyly. It's pretty fucking adorable. "Yes, yeah. Of course, dude, like I was gonna say no. Have you seen you?"

Brendon hesitates for a moment, but then he continues before Spencer has a chance to respond. "Uh...you—we should probably figure out, though, before we. Like. What you're comfortable with, you know? 'Experiment' kind of covers a lot of ground, and I'd hate myself if I did something that made you uncomfortable, or that you didn't—"

"Bren. Brendon." It's Spencer's turn to still Brendon's fidgety hands. "I—you couldn't, okay? It's you. You...you wouldn't." Spencer feels lightheaded.

"Not on purpose," Brendon says. "But no, for real. We should talk about that, before we--"

"Yeah," Spencer says. "Okay. But I don't really have a list, or anything? I mean, uh, everything. In theory." He shrugs, helpless. Nothing's coming out right and he feels like an idiot.

For a moment, Brendon looks overwhelmed and maybe a little turned on, which sends a thrill down Spencer's spine and makes him catch his breath—he's pretty sure Brendon is staring at his mouth, and wow, okay, they're really going to do this, holy shit—and then, somehow, Brendon manages to get some of his bravado back and gives Spencer a crooked smile.

"Okay, wow. Well, that's a lot more ground to cover than I can manage in a night, dude, so I'm pretty much gonna need to you clear your weekend for me."

The idea of closing himself up for an entire weekend of...experimentation with Brendon goes straight to Spencer's cock. His breath hitches audibly. He watches Brendon's eyes darken in response, and forces himself to drag in a shaky breath.

"I...can do that," he manages.

Brendon is definitely looking at Spencer's mouth now, and his tongue darts out, unconsciously sweeping over his own lower lip. All at once Spencer wants to ask if they really have to wait for the weekend at all, but then Brendon visibly drags himself back under control and grins at Spencer. He reaches over and turns the TV back on.

"We're finishing American Idol," he says firmly, almost sternly, like he's lecturing Spencer and maybe himself, too. "Then you're going home."

"Wait," Spencer says. "What?"

"Never start something you can't finish," Brendon says, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Cardinal rule, dude."

"I'll show you a cardinal rule," Spencer says, flustered, falling back into their familiar pattern of insults.

Brendon laughs. "Shut up and watch the show, or I'll grope you right here and now."

There's a moment or two where Spencer suddenly can't quite figure out why that's a bad thing. It must show on his face, because Brendon's eyes go dark again, and he clears his throat a little roughly.

"Which would be bad," Brendon continues, "because you're expected at the airport to pick up Ryan in less than an hour, and I have brunch with my sister tomorrow morning, and we're all supposed to be at Shane's by noon to help him unpack." Brendon looks down at the carpet. "And I, uh. I don't want any interruptions, Spencer. Not for—not with you."

Spencer swallows thickly, and nods, and does not pay attention to a single thing that happens during the remainder of the episode. From the total silence next to him, he suspects Brendon's in the same boat.

When it's finally over, Brendon walks him to the door. It's something that he normally wouldn't bother to do, and Spencer feels suddenly nervous as they stand there and stare at each other.

"If I kiss you right now," Brendon says weakly, once the silence has gone on a beat too long. "I'm gonna end up shoving you against a wall, and then there will be grinding and probably some partial nudity, and that's not a very classy way to start things off for you, especially since we're not actually supposed to be on the clock for that sort of thing until this weekend."

"Yeah," says Spencer. He can't breathe. "But. I might be okay with, like. Calling it a preview. An advance on a future lesson."

"That...doesn't make it any classier," Brendon says, but he's leaning in anyway. His chest is almost brushing Spencer's, and he's tilting his face up, and oh, fuck, Spencer is dying.

"Class is way overrated." Spencer bends his head, his eyes fluttering closed, and Brendon makes a noise in the back of his throat. This is it, Spencer is going to kiss him, this is really happening—

Spencer's Sidekick starts to ring.

Brendon groans, dropping his face away from Spencer's and laughing breathlessly against Spencer's shoulder.

"No interruptions," he murmurs. "This weekend, we're shutting off our phones."

"Fuck," mutters Spencer, and lets his head fall backward until it bangs against the door. "Fuck."

Brendon leans up and brushes his mouth across Spencer's—just a brush of lips, not even a real kiss, but he's smiling so brightly that Spencer can't help smiling back.

"This weekend, Spencer Smith," he says, his voice full of promise. "This is going to be so much fun."

Spencer barely manages to answer his phone before it goes to voicemail, assuring Ryan in a somewhat unsteady voice that he is totally on his way right now—Jesus, dude, have some fucking patience, okay—and his whole body feels clumsy and stupid as he fumbles his way out to his car.

Brendon's words replay in his head the whole way over to pick up Ryan.

Fuck, Friday seems like a long time to wait.

\---

So Brendon does this thing, okay, where he sort of can't help singing, like, all the time. And his head is basically a musical encyclopedia, which means he has a song to suit every imaginable occasion, and usually Spencer actually finds it kind of fascinating and funny, but right now it is driving him up the wall.

They've been helping Shane unpack for two and a half hours, and Spencer is having enough trouble not staring at Brendon, so it's understandable that when he walks into the kitchen to find Brendon putting away glasses and quietly singing, "I just want your extra time, and your...kiss," he doesn't actually put two and two together in his head.

Over the course of the next hour, though, Brendon hums his way absentmindedly through "I Wanna Sex You Up," "I Touch Myself," and "Let's Get It On." Spencer is a flustered mess by the time he passes the bathroom and hears, "I wanna li-li-li-lick you from your head to your toes, and I wanna--"

"Brendon," he interrupts raggedly.

Brendon glances up in surprise. "Sorry," he mumbles. "Didn't see you there."

Spencer stares at him helplessly for a moment, his entire body tingling with awareness, because Brendon is right there, and because Brendon is thinking about sex—sex with Spencer, and he's been thinking about it all day, and holy fuck, Spencer really hadn't known it was going to feel like this when he'd first gone to Brendon, but it's making him crazy and they haven't even done anything yet.

He makes himself walk away before he does something to embarrass them both.

Brendon behaves himself for half an hour after that, but then Spencer finds him hanging clothes in Shane's bedroom closet, and he's fallen off the wagon again.

"--take all your big plans, and break them," he's singing in a quiet husky voice that goes straight to Spencer's stomach and sends it on a little roller coaster ride. "This is bound to be awhile. Your body is a wonderland..."

Spencer is literally on his way across the room, two steps from flinging Brendon against the nearest wall and saying "fuck it" to waiting for Friday, when Ryan materializes in the bedroom doorway and announces that they've ordered a pizza. Spencer's still not really sure what Ryan's doing here, except that he had some sort of meeting and apparently didn't feel like going back to L.A. any time soon.

(He's completely useless at helping them unpack, but at least he's providing atmosphere. It's just atmosphere Spencer could care less about right now, because seriously, _worst fucking timing_.)

Brendon looks up and accidentally locks eyes with Spencer. They both end up flushing a little and then sort of grinning sheepishly at each other. Spencer hates every single second of this torture, and can't remember the last time he's had so much fun.

He wonders vaguely over pizza if he has the nerve to start humming, "I wanna fuck you like an animal," under his breath. He doesn't know the answer, but the thought alone is enough to make his cheeks burn and his mouth curl up in a secret smile that falls somewhere between wicked and mortified. Brendon sees it and literally trails off in the middle of a sentence, losing track of his train of thought entirely, and Spencer's stomach does a couple of happy flips just for the hell of it.

\---

Brendon calls that night.

Spencer is already in bed, watching Iron Chef re-runs on his bedroom TV, when his Sidekick bursts to life. He yelps a little in surprise, and shifts so that his phone isn't vibrating directly under his ass. Instead of any of his actual existing ringtones, a burst of synthesized eighties music trills out: "Sex is something that we should do, sex is something for me and you! Sex is natural, sex is good—not everybody does it, but everybody should!"

Spencer is cracking up as he answers the phone.

"You're such an asshole," he manages, "Dude. George Michael? Seriously?"

Brendon laughs. "Hot, right? You know it made you want me."

"Man, I'm almost insulted." Spencer says. "I'm not good enough for Barry White?"

"Oh, my darling, I," Brendon sings immediately, without missing a beat, "I can't get enough of your love, babe...Girl, I don't know, I don't know why—"

"Shut up," Spencer tells him, grinning all over his face. "Dick."

"Whatever," Brendon returns, and Spencer can hear him grinning back. "There's no pleasing some people, seriously."

"Yeah, I'm difficult like that."

Brendon pauses, and when he speaks again, the smile is still in his voice, but there's a seriousness there, too. "Hey, Spence."

Spencer hums. "Mmm?"

"I actually did have a reason to call, you know. I wanted—"

"—to make sure I heard my new ringtone," Spencer supplies dryly.

Brendon laughs. "Well, yes," he admits. "But also, I wanted...okay, this is going to sound stupid and you can feel free to mock me if you need to, but like. Today, I—I guess I just wanted to make sure that I didn't...make you feel weird, or. I don't want you to feel like you can't change your mind, is the thing. Or like I'd be upset if you did, maybe, or—"

"I'm not going to change my mind," Spencer interrupts. He means for it to be reassuring, but it comes out distinctly low and husky.

Brendon's breath hitches. Spencer finds his fingers twitching slightly where they're resting on his stomach. He flushes, and flattens his hand.

"...okay. Good, I—that's good," is Brendon's eventual response, and his voice is maybe a little low, too, but carefully level. No jokes, no innuendos, which is how Spencer knows he's turned on and trying not to let it show. A cautious and hesitant Brendon is a Brendon with something to hide.

Spencer's fingers twitch again. "So, uh, two more days," he hears himself say quietly.

Brendon laughs, a faint, shaky sound. "Seems like a long time right now," he agrees. There's a short pause, and then, "It's going to be so worth it, though."

"Yeah." Spencer's fingers are inching toward the waistband of his sleep pants. He can't believe what he's thinking, and he kind of wants to burst into hysterical laughter at himself and at the whole situation, but that doesn't stop him from dragging in a shuddery breath and then saying, "You have, like, some kind of lesson plan in mind?"

Brendon swallows audibly. "...maybe," he admits cautiously, like he can see where this is headed but isn't quite sure.

Spencer himself is a nervous wreck, half-terrified and half-turned on, and there's a distant voice at the back of his mind shrieking frantically about humiliation and ruining everything, and also, this is _Brendon_,what the fuck. Except somehow all of that is secondary, because Spencer doesn't want to stop.

"Want to tell me about it?" he manages, and there it is. He's said it, he's done it, it's out there now and there's no calling it back.

Brendon exhales sharply. "Holy shit. I think you're going to kill me, Spencer Smith."

"That a no?" Spencer's voice is tight, and that's all he can get out, his fingers tightening around his phone and his other hand stilling abruptly with just his fingertips beneath his waistband.

God, he's fucked it up, he's fucked it up—

"No!" Brendon says, startled and breathless. "I mean...yes. I mean—" He pauses, spends a second or two just breathing, and then tries again. "Yeah," Brendon says. His voice sounds slightly rough.

Spencer flushes everywhere, his skin going hot and tight and scratchy all over his body, and he swallows down a rush of relief and arousal so strong it's almost dizzying. His hand slides lower again, and this is so surreal, and he's so hard, and when he wraps his hand around his cock, his eyes slide shut and he bites down hard on his lip.

"Fuck—Brendon," he says roughly, past caring if it's stupid, if he sounds stupid, if he's obvious and clumsy and too eager for this, for Brendon.

"Yeah," Brendon says hoarsely. "Yeah, fuck—I. Spencer."

Spencer squeezes, his breath coming harsh and fast. "You…you were gonna tell me. What it'll be like."

"Shit," Brendon says. "Okay. Okay, yeah. I want—god, fuck, I want..." He pauses, tries to clear his throat. It doesn't help; his voice is still scratchy when he continues. "I'll…I'll start slow, I have to be—it's your first time like this, and you don't even know yet if—you're just trying it out, and I can't go too fast, I have to make it so good, make you want me—"

"I do, it's not—" Spencer interrupts. He's stroking rapidly now, a fast, jerky tempo, and the sound of Brendon gasping in time with the quick, rhythmic rustle on the other end of the line is making him crazy. "I--I already want—I want—"

Brendon groans. "Not good enough," he rasps unevenly. "I have a whole weekend with you, I want to take my time, make it last, make it count. I—god, there's so much I want to do to you, I can't stop thinking about it. I'll be so careful, Spencer, I promise, I'll make it so good for you. I'll do anything you want. Anything."

Spencer makes a choked-off sound, half a grunt and half a whimper. It feels like his whole body is lit up like a Roman candle. Brendon's voice is ragged in his ear, and he's so close, so fucking close already.

"Fuck, you sound so hot," Brendon murmurs feverishly. "Jesus, I can't believe—talk to me, tell me this is okay, tell me—"

"Yeah," Spencer moans. "Yeah, fuck, Brendon—it's good, it's…keep going—"

A sharp breath, heavy and loud in Spencer's ear, just a little bit vocal like a strangled groan. "Slow, right…starting slow, I was…. Kissing, that's—that's the first lesson, I want it, I want—it's been making me crazy, since you were here, up against the door, so close—your mouth, I could almost taste it—"

Spencer's panting, his entire body strung tense and tight.

"I've thought about it before, you know," Brendon says. His voice is dark and low and gritty, lesson plans forgotten.

Spencer freezes, almost comes just like that, his skin buzzing, his hand squeezing helplessly around his cock. "Yeah?" he grits out through tightly-clenched teeth.

"Fuck, yeah, god, look at you—so fucking hot, Spence, so fucking hot—and I think about it, think about you shoving me against a wall, pinning me to a bed, think about how you'd feel, what your dick would taste like in my mouth—god—" The words trail off into a shaky, inarticulate sound, and Spencer can't take it anymore.

"Fuck," he whispers. "Brendon. I'm close, I'm so close, I can't—"

"Shit," Brendon breathes. He sounds wrecked, raw and frantic. "God, fuck, yes. I want to hear you."

The tension snaps. Spencer's hips buck all the way up off the bed, his head tipping back. He makes a low jagged sound in the back of his throat as he comes all over his hand.

"Fuck," Brendon grits out desperately. "Spencer." And then he's coming, too, and Spencer can hear it, a strangled moan that slides right over Spencer's still-tingling skin like a trail of hot sparks.

It takes a few long moments for either of them to catch their breath enough to try to speak again, and then a few more to figure out what to say.

"Wow," is what Spencer eventually comes up with. It's not his most eloquent moment, but he's feeling too boneless and sleepy and maybe suddenly-shy right now to come up with anything better.

Brendon laughs, and it sounds like relief. "Yeah," he says, still smiling so widely Spencer can hear it in his voice. "Uh. Yeah. Wow sounds about right."

\---

Thursday's mission is a trip to Ikea. Normally, this sort of shit is right up Spencer's weird little organizational-OCD alley, but today he's too distracted by Brendon.

 

He'd expected it to be awkward, after last night, but it isn't. Instead they've taken to circling each other, more openly now than they were before. It's fun, but there's an undercurrent of very real intent that makes it hard for Spencer to think about anything else.

Brendon is better at this game than Spencer, but only because he happens to be a little braver. When Shane starts off the day by saying, "Bden, Spence, I need a favor," Brendon drops his voice about half an octave and says, "You can ask me for anything, and I'll do it," with a totally straight face. Spencer's own face burns fiercely, but aside from a single bemused blink from Shane at Brendon's odd phrasing, nobody seems to notice anything untoward in the moment.

Ryan shows up in his rental car around noon. When they get to Ikea he drags Spencer off into the wilderness of home furnishings, while Brendon goes with Shane to the bottom level where they actually sell shit. Spencer is staring somewhat blankly at a long row of remarkably similar entertainment centers when he gets the first text message. This is how he discovers that, A) Brendon is apparently not shy about sending innuendo-laden texts back and forth in the middle of a Swedish furniture superstore, surrounded by their friends and former bandmates, and B) the fucker got his hands on Spencer's phone again. His text message ringtone is now set to Barry White's, "Can't Get Enough of Your Love."

Ryan quirks an eyebrow at Spencer, who rolls his eyes, flushes a little, and mutters, "Brendon. Stupid joke, don't worry about it," but doesn't change the ringtone.

Barry White plays twenty-seven more times before they leave the store. Brendon has apparently been reading up on sexual positions. Spencer definitely would not have been able to describe the "Viennese Oyster" before this afternoon.

But just because Brendon is the better player doesn't mean he's the only one. Spencer may not be quite as bold as Brendon, but he's definitely playing the game—letting himself get "caught" staring at some part of Brendon's body at every available opportunity, stretching his arm along the back of the backseat behind Brendon's head and letting his fingertips trace light, teasing pictures against the skin at the nape of his neck, out of sight of the others.

It's not like any other flirtation Spencer has ever been a part of. It's better, because it's Brendon, which makes it this light, funny, sexy thing instead of being awkward or fraught with tension, and which also makes it totally safe for Spencer to be himself. There's no need to try to impress him or to look good, because Brendon already knows all the stupid parts, and he's up for this anyway.

Spencer had no idea it was going to be like this.

\---

Friday morning, Spencer wakes up to an inch of water on the floor of his kitchen, dotted all over with small, fragile soap bubbles and clustering in foamy white waves trailing out the bottom of his dishwasher.

His day doesn't really improve from there.

He gets a parking ticket when he goes out to run a few meaningless errands (to distract himself, because obviously he's so fucking distracted he forget to lock the dishwasher last night before running it, god, what is his life). Right as he's staring down at the orange slip and trying not to punch the nearest telephone pole, his mom calls. Spencer nods and makes meaningless small talk and somewhere in the middle of the conversation Ginger carefully and tactfully informs him he's forgotten the twins' birthdays.

Coming from anyone else Spencer knows there would be yelling, angry recriminations, accusations and long silences. As it is, it's almost worse to hear it from his mom because she's so damn understanding about it. Spencer lies haltingly, making up a story about a recording snafu, and the whole time his stomach twists with guilt. It's stupid, really, they're all adults, but Spencer's their big brother and he's never forgotten their birthday.

Spencer shoves the parking ticket in his glove box and goes home and calls his sisters. Afterwards, he spends far too much money on the internet trying to assuage his guilty conscience. He ships everything off to his sister's respective dorm rooms and resolves not to look at his credit card bill for a while.

By the time six o'clock rolls around, Spencer has a headache and a chip on his shoulder the size of Antarctica. He shoves approximately two t-shirts, extra boxers, a pair of sneakers and one sock into a bag and drives over to Brendon's. He wants to feel excited, or scared, or nervous, but mostly he's just pissed off.

Brendon's biting his lip as he opens the door and Spencer tries to smile, but it comes out wrong. It feels uncomfortably plastic and Brendon steps away, frowning.

"Are you, hey," Brendon says, and ushers Spencer in. "Dude, what's up? You look like shit."

"I just--" Spencer says, waving his hand in an indefinable gesture. His shoulders feel tight, and now that he's actually here, there's a sharp twist of nervousness fluttering around in his stomach. "Bad day. It's fine, we're cool. I'm uh. Excited."

He winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth, and Brendon's frown grows wider. He looks at Spencer for a long moment and then walks away without a word and Spencer resists the urge to pick up his things and just walk out the door. He's fucked it up, somehow. He's fucked up and Spencer knew this would happen, and now he has to go find Brendon and apologize and god, he's not in the fucking mood for this. Spencer sits down heavily on one of Brendon's stupid, ugly overstuffed chairs and scrubs his hands over his face. He's so wrapped up in his bad mood that he doesn't even notice the beer in front of him until Brendon carefully bumps it against his nose.

Spencer jumps a little but Brendon just snickers at him, wiggling the beer invitingly. Brendon's already taken the cap off, and Spencer takes a long swallow.

"Thanks," he says, a little unsteadily. "Uh. Sorry. It's just been a--"

"Whatever," Brendon says, shrugging. He drops down onto the couch with the whoosh of air being forcibly pushed out of overstuffed cushions. "You want to pick a movie?"

"I thought we," Spencer says, and stops. Are they not doing this, then? He feels a sudden rush of disappointment, but he pushes it down and away, because it's probably his own fault. "Yeah, sure." He walks over to the uneven stacks of DVD's next to Brendon's entertainment console, and picks out The Host, mostly because the monster looks like a mutated fish with legs and the sub-plot about environmental awareness isn't going to try and cheer him up. He turns around and waves it in Brendon's direction, and Brendon snorts with amusement.

"No Disney?" Brendon says, his tone teasing.

Spencer replies with a very firm, "Fuck Disney."

Brendon pouts at him a little, but he's smiling around his beer, like Spencer's bitchy mood is kind of cute. With other people, that sort of thing usually makes Spencer even more pissed off, but when it comes from Brendon, Spencer can't find it in himself to stay mad.

He sticks the DVD in the player and when he sits back down, Brendon just says, "You're my friend first, dude," as he hits play. It's both comforting and unnerving. Comforting, because part of Spencer's still a little terrified this is going to mess everything up between them, and unnerving, because Spencer's been having a lot of trouble thinking of Brendon in a platonic way lately. It serves to remind him that however it looks, this is still Brendon doing him a favor.

It's what he asked for, though. If Brendon's willing to be the bigger person and keep it in his pants until Spencer's marginally less bitchy--well, Spencer's pretty grateful. Maybe grateful isn't the right word. Mostly, it just hammers home the point that this is unlike any hook-up he's ever experienced, because they're already close enough for Brendon to know exactly what cheers Spencer up.

"Thanks," Spencer says softly, and means it. He drinks his beer, and accepts the second one gratefully when Brendon hands it to him. He pauses for a moment, considering, but two beers isn't nearly enough to get him more than mildly tipsy. He's kind of okay with being mildly tipsy for this. He trusts Brendon implicitly, and Brendon's never done anything to ruin that trust.

He thinks Brendon might a little tipsy, too, from the way he's sprawled out on the couch by the time the movie's over. Spencer pokes him in the thigh, and is rewarded with an affronted noise.

"Hey, hey," Brendon says, and smacks his hand away playfully. "Not until after dinner." His tone is light, teasing, but it still makes something warm and slightly nervous curl up in Spencer's chest. He's suddenly a little short of breath.

"So, we're still--" Spencer fumbles, because he just wants to make sure, and Brendon gives him a lazy smile.

"Fuck yeah," he says, and his voice is a little lower than normal. It makes Spencer flash back to two nights ago, Brendon's voice in his ear telling him what he wanted to do to him. They lock eyes for a moment, and Spencer holds his breath, but Brendon eventually tears his eyes away and shakes his head.

"Dinner first," he says, getting up off the couch and stretching out. Spencer watches him, trying not to be too obvious about it. It's almost a little weird, how into this he is. He just wants to tear Brendon's clothing off, smell him, taste him, feel all that skin under his fingertips and--yeah.

They need to eat something. Spencer's definitely kind of tipsy.

"Um," Spencer gets out eventually, once he's managed to tear his eyes away from the long line of Brendon's back, the way his shirt is riding up over his hips. "What's for dinner?"

"Frozen pizza," Brendon says, shrugging slightly. "Its just the crust, I figured we could--I picked up some stuff to put on it." He's blushing a little, like he's embarrassed, like they don't make food together all the time.

It does feel different, though. Normally, Spencer wouldn't be staring at Brendon's ass when he bends over to get the cheese out of the fridge, or feeling that tingle in his spine whenever they accidentally bump into each other.

Also, Brendon doesn't usually lick all the sauce off his fingertips.

Or, well. He does, but not quite like that.

"Brendon," Spencer manages to get out, in a strangled voice. "You--"

"Hmm," Brendon says, looking over at Spencer, tongue still curling delicately around his forefinger. "Oh. Sorry." He doesn't look sorry at all.

"Trying to kill me," Spencer mutters, under his breath. He doesn't intend for Brendon to hear--he's all the way across the kitchen, checking the temperature on the stove--but Brendon turns and gives him a wicked grin over his shoulder. Spencer can feel his face flaming up, and he ducks his head and concentrates very firmly on not slicing his fingers off. He doesn't know why he's acting like a teenager about this now, when yesterday and the day before he was totally confident, giving as good as he got. Maybe because it still hadn't seemed quite real, like they were playing a game. A fun, sexy game, but still a game, and now--it's just very, very real, that's all. And it's good, and Spencer wants it, so he can't understand why he's feeling so shy.

Brendon seems to notice something's up, and stops by on his way across the kitchen, leaning up against the counter. "Hey, hey," Brendon says, looking a little concerned. "You okay?"

"Yes," Spencer says, and it comes out a little more emphatic than he expects.

Brendon raises an eyebrow and says, "Whoa, just checking, dude."

"No, it's--shit," Spencer says sheepishly. "I didn't mean. I just didn't want you to think, you know. That I'm backing out."

"You could," Brendon says, very seriously. "Like, really, we don't have to, if you thought maybe you wanted to, and now you're not sure--"

"I'm really sure," Spencer says, and his voice cracks a little and god, that's embarrassing. He is regressing to middle school. He is such a loser.

"Okay," Brendon says, and smiles a slow, pleased smile. "Cool." Spencer bites his lip a little. He wants to explain what's going on his head, but he's not sure he can. It's a swirling, adrenaline filled rush of _what if it sucks?_ and _wait, wait, what if it's awesome, shit, what would _that _mean_, and a little bit of_ holy shit I am going to touch another dude's dick_.

Not just another dude's dick. _Brendon's_ dick.

It's just still a little weird, that's all.

Spencer's so caught up in his own head that he doesn't notice Brendon's hand on his own until Brendon physically stops him from chopping up the pepper into ever-decreasing slices. "It is totally fine if you're freaking," Brendon says, a little quieter. "Look at it this way. You haven't like, spazzed out on me or gotten horribly drunk to deal with the nerves. You're totally ahead."

"Who did you spazz on?" Spencer says, momentarily distracted.

Brendon gives him a sheepish grin. "Uh, Ryan," he says.

Spencer feels his mouth open a little bit. "Wait, wait, hold up," Spencer says. "You and _Ryan_\--"

"Oh, nonono," Brendon says hurriedly, waving his hands a little, and his expression is so comically horrified that Spencer can't keep from laughing. "No. Seriously, oh god, we probably would have tried to commit double homicide if we ever--anyway. No, I just--kinda freaked out on him. Once or twice."

"What did he do?" Spencer said, vegetables momentarily forgotten. In all the years of being friends with both Ryan and Brendon, he's never heard this story. "When was this?"

"Once was right after Pete came to see us play," Brendon says, grimacing. "He said something to me that hit way to close to home and I may have...called him some really horrible things."

"Tell me you didn't call Ryan a fag," Spencer says, raising an eyebrow. "You did, didn't you?"

"Maybe," Brendon says, cutting his eyes to the side. "Look, I was just. I was fucking scared, okay? I was fucking terrified. I had no idea what to do."

"I'm surprised you're still here," Spencer says, honestly. "And that you have all of your extremities."

"Well, I mean. He punched me."

"You probably deserved it."

"He punched me like, ten times."

"...okay, maybe not ten times." Spencer concedes reluctantly. "Holy shit, wait, I remember that. I thought you'd gotten mugged or something. That was Ryan?"

"He made up for it," Brendon says. "And I really did deserve it. But I mean, he stopped on the way home to get me some ice for my face. I think he felt kind of bad."

"The things you learn about your friends," Spencer said, shaking his head. "You're lucky I wasn't there. I probably would have knocked you out for calling Ryan that."

"Yeah, well," Brendon says, mirroring Spencer's head shake. "With the deserving, and all that. So like. What I'm saying is, you're doing okay."

"Yeah," Spencer says quietly. "Um. If you don't want to tell me, it's fine, but like--what was the other time?"

"The other time with Ryan?" Brendon says. His tone is easy, light, but there's something a little tighter about the way he's standing. "Or--"

"What you said," Spencer says. "About being drunk." Part of him doesn't want to know, but he has a sneaking suspicion that this is something important he needs to know about Brendon, something that he needs to understand if they're going to do this.

"Oh, yeah," Brendon says. He looks away again, and when he looks back at Spencer he's totally composed, which means this is one of those stories that Brendon finds painful to tell.

"I was really nervous," Brendon says simply. "So I got really drunk, and it was a dumb idea. It wasn't like--I didn't get assaulted, or anything, but I felt like shit afterwards. You know? I still don't really remember all of it. It was just some guy, but like, yeah."

"Brendon, I--" Spencer says, and then he's not quite sure what to say. He wants to give him a hug, but Brendon doesn't look like he really wants one. All of his body language is screaming I'M FINE, TOTALLY FINE!

"You could have told us," Spencer says, simply. "Told me. I would have--I don't know. Something. Listened."

"I was embarrassed," Brendon says, shrugging. "I guess, I just felt like, kinda cheap, maybe? Not that I think that now--" he hurriedly corrects, as Spencer frowns and opens his mouth. "But like. I don't know, it felt different from tour hookups and stuff. I mostly just wanted to pretend it never happened."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "I get that." And he does, is the thing. He's definitely had hookups where he's woken up the next morning and just felt the need to get away as quickly as possible. The kind where he'd thought maybe that wasn't such a great idea afterwards, even when he couldn't pinpoint the reason for his unease.

"Man, this is a depressing conversation," Brendon says, and slaps his hand on the counter, like he's pushing away all the memories hanging in the air around them. "I vote pizza. Yes?"

"Yes," Spencer says seriously, but he's not quite done yet. "Listen, I. Thank you."

"For?" Brendon says, cocking his head to the side.

"This," Spencer says simply. "And uh. Telling me. It's probably not your favorite thing to talk about."

"Water under the bridge," Brendon says, and shrugs, but his shoulders don't look quite as tense as before. It's a start. "What are your thoughts on pineapple and pepperoni?"

\---

"Spencer. Spencer Smith," Brendon says, as his eyelids flutter shut in obvious delight. "This is seriously the best pizza in the history of pizzas."

"You helped, too," Spencer says, but Brendon's right. It's really fucking good pizza. They're sitting on the couch, stuffing their faces side by side. Brendon had put on Belle and Sebastian while they were finishing up in the kitchen, and he's tapping his fingers on his knee unconsciously. Spencer's always been amazed at how fast Brendon can pick up anything related to music, up to and including figuring out chord progressions after just one listen. Right now, though, Spencer's mostly just trying not to stare at Brendon's hands and wonder what else they're good at.

"You need to make me pizza all the time," Brendon says. "Like, every day."

"I do," Spencer says. He really does feed Brendon at least once a week. Not that he thinks of it as such, but somehow, Spencer always ends up being the one doing the actual cooking.

"Yes, but," Brendon says, and then stuffs the rest of it in his mouth, like he can't bear to breathe without another bite. "More, Spencer Smith. I want more."

Spencer snickers. "I'll give you more," he says, and then freezes, because it sounded far dirtier out loud than it did in his head.

Brendon just grins at him, though, and Spencer feels everything settle a little. His earlier nervousness is slowly moving back towards anticipation. It's sort of like how sometimes he'll get a little freaked out before playing on stage, but right before they actually go on he'll get that rush of adrenaline, a sort of fuck yeah, we're going to own the shit out of this feeling.

Brendon finally pushes his plate away, taking a long drink of water afterwards. Spencer watches him, and when Brendon sort of shifts a little on the couch, Spencer can't resist a little restless shifting of his own. His heart's suddenly beating in double-time; it feels like it's thumping _now now now_ in his chest.

"So," Brendon says, and licks his lips. It's probably unconscious. It's not helping Spencer's pulse rate.

"So," Spencer says. He makes a tiny, aborted movement towards Brendon, and then thinks better of it.

"C'mere," Brendon says softly, fondly. He's smiling a little. He leans in and Spencer meets him halfway. Everything in Spencer's body is pulled up tight in anticipation.

True to his word, Brendon doesn't push. His mouth is soft and warm on Spencer's, and he moves his lips gently, pressing tiny kisses onto Spencer's mouth. Spencer's abruptly glad he's sitting down.

He kisses Brendon back, feeling the faint sensation of stubble against his skin. He pulls away after a few minutes to breathe. Brendon takes that moment to bite down on his lower lip. Spencer gasps a little, letting his mouth fall open slightly. There's a moment where they're both just breathing, and then Brendon leans in and kisses him for real, rough and dirty. Brendon strokes his tongue along Spencer's, pulling back to nip at his lips, not letting Spencer focus on any one sensation for more than a second at a time. It's a little overwhelming.

It's also really, stupidly hot.

"Jesus," Spencer mumbles, and Brendon smiles against his mouth and scratches a hand through Spencer's hair, coming to rest on the curve of his neck. He strokes the pad of his thumb over Spencer's jawline, just under his beard, and Spencer's brain sort of checks out.

It's like Brendon knows exactly how to touch him; Spencer can feel the guitar calluses on Brendon's fingertips, the slight sting of his nails. Spencer reaches out blindly and tugs at whatever parts of Brendon he can reach. He just wants Brendon closer, fuck, but he's not expecting it when Brendon pulls away and then climbs into his lap.

"Hey," Brendon murmurs, throaty and pleased. He noses along Spencer's neck and Spencer groans and throws his head back, his hands coming to rest on Brendon's hips entirely of their own volition.

"Holy shit," Spencer says, weakly. Brendon's shifting a little on his lap and sucking a bruise into his collarbone and it's all Spencer can do not to throw him down on the couch and rut into him like a fifteen-year old.

"The first rule is that I'm not going to break," Brendon mutters, punctuating his statement with a sharp bite to Spencer's ear that makes Spencer jerk in pleasure. His voice sounds breathy. "You can be a little rough, it's okay."

"Fuck, Brendon," Spencer manages, and tangles one hand in Brendon's hair, tugging him back so Spencer can kiss him again. It's hot, desperate, exactly what Spencer had imagined, only more so. It's like someone turned "making out" up to eleven.

"Is this," Spencer says weakly, after Brendon goes back to leaving sharp, erratically spaced hickeys all along Spencer's neck. "I thought you had an, uh. Fuck. A lesson plan?" He doesn't know why he's pointing it out, except that he has no idea if he's doing anything right.

"I'm modifying it," Brendon mumbles. He pulls away a little and Spencer can see his flushed cheeks, a smear of red high on his cheekbones. His hair is a mess. "Seriously, Spencer, just stop worrying and make out with me, okay? I promise you're not going to fuck it up."

Spencer snorts, and then bites his lip when Brendon grins at him and rolls his hips a little, like he's proving to Spencer that he's doing fine. It's weird, and it's hot, and it's weird that it's hot but like, fuck. Brendon is straddling him and he's hard and Spencer did that. Spencer just wants--he doesn't even know. He wants more.

Spencer leans in this time around, tugging Brendon more firmly onto his lap. He slips his hands under Brendon's T-shirt, wrapping them around Brendon's hips, and Brendon exhales firmly into his mouth.

"You want me to take it off?" Brendon says, like he's checking that this is still okay. Spencer appreciates it, he really does, but he also sort of wants Brendon to be naked right now. Never mind that Spencer's seen him shirtless approximately one million times. It's completely different this time around.

"Yeah," Spencer says, swallowing a little. He slides his palms up while Brendon tugs his shirt off and god, Brendon's skin is really soft.

"Can I--" Brendon mumbles into his mouth, because they're kissing in between every two or three words, pausing only to breathe. He tugs at the bottom of Spencer's shirt and Spencer nods into his mouth, not trusting his voice.

He has to pull back and away to actually get his shirt over his head, and he gets momentarily stuck. Brendon laughs a little and tugs on one of the sleeves. His eyes are bright and amused behind his glasses.

"I'm usually smoother than this," Spencer protests, after he's gotten all of his limbs back. "Really."

Brendon grins back at him. "You should show me," He mumbles into Spencer's mouth, and when he leans in this time Spencer almost jumps, because now they're skin-on-skin.

Brendon leans in and nips at Spencer's ear again, blowing a steady stream of air over the abused skin in between bites. His thumbs are smoothing little circles into Spencer's sides and Spencer takes a chance, using his hands on Brendon's hips to grind him directly down on Spencer's dick. He can feel his entire face flushing hotly, but Brendon just groans and buries his face into Spencer's shoulder.

"Fuck," Brendon says. "Dammit, Spencer, I can't--we're supposed to be going slow."

"Brendon," Spencer pants out roughly. He pulls him down again, settling him more firmly on Spencer's lap. Brendon's erection is pushing into his stomach. "Seriously, if you don't take off my pants, this might get really embarrassing."

"Really?" Brendon says, rocking back and forth on Spencer's lap. He's arching his back a little, sticking out his ass and tensing his thighs. His forehead is shiny with sweat. Watching him is going straight to Spencer's dick. "That might be kind of hot. I could get off on that." He's teasing, but his voice sounds thick with arousal.

"Please," Spencer bites out, and he knows he's whining. He's not proud of it. Hell, he would just take Brendon's pants off but it feels like there's some weird thing stopping him from actually touching Brendon's dick without Brendon's express permission.

"Do you want--here," Brendon says, and leans back so he can tug Spencer's pants down to his knees. He leaves his boxers on, and Spencer's about to protest that seriously, he's not a virgin, Brendon can hurry things up a little, when he realizes Brendon's stepping back and tugging his jeans all the way off.

He's wearing bright orange underwear and it should be stupid, but mostly it's just fucking hot, because they leave exactly nothing to the imagination. Spencer can see the shape of Brendon's dick, the tiny wet spot where the tip must be. His stomach clenches a little.

"Last chance to back out," Brendon says softly, as he's climbing back onto Spencer's lap. Spencer nods numbly, because he's still stuck on Brendon's legs, fuck, Brendon's ass. It's like he's never seen him before, and all Spencer wants to do is touch. He's so distracted that he barely notices it when Brendon shifts Spencer's hand so their fingers are linked, tugging it down and over.

"You good?" Brendon says, carefully. "Yeah," Spencer says, swallowing firmly, and then Brendon's pushing their joined hands down, down, down.

Spencer's fingers skate over Brendon's dick. His skin is hot to the touch. It feels--familiar, actually, not nearly as weird as he'd expected. Spencer bites his lip and cups Brendon experimentally, stroking his thumb down the side of Brendon's cock.

He can feel the faint scratch of Brendon's pubic hair along the back of his hand, and Brendon moans when he does it, sharp and surprised. His hand is still ghosting along the back of Spencer's while Spencer cups him.

"You're so hot," Spencer blurts out, because he quite literally can't think of anything else. He's got Brendon's dick in his hand and all he can think about is how much he seriously wants to jerk Brendon off, just to watch Brendon's face while he comes.

"Fuck, you're trying to kill me," Brendon moans, pressing his face into Spencer's shoulder. "Seriously, I'm sorry if this is going too fast, but I--" He pushes at Spencer's hand, wrapping it around his dick and fuck, keeping his hand on Spencer's while he starts to move it, showing him what to do.

"It's not going too fast," Spencer says. Brendon thrusts into his grip with a tiny gasp. He's so warm in Spencer's hand, warm and hard and a little slick, and Spencer brushes his thumb across the top of Brendon's dick without thinking. Brendon jerks a little and Spencer does it again. He can feel his mouth hanging open.

"Oh my god," Brendon groans, and then he starts to speed up, so that he's fucking Spencer's hand in earnest. Spencer's almost painfully hard but he doesn't even care; he's totally, completely focused on Brendon.

Brendon makes that same noise when he comes, a strangled sigh that's so hot Spencer can't help the way his hips buck up in response. His come is dripping down in between Spencer's fingers.

"Holy fuck," Brendon says weakly, "Fuck, Spencer, come here--" He tugs Spencer in with one hand, shoving the other down to wrap around Spencer's cock. It takes Spencer a second to realize what's happening; Brendon's hand is warm and wet, and Spencer's brain can't figure it out until he puts two and two together and realizes Brendon is jerking Spencer off with his come.

Spencer groans and bucks up into Brendon's hand; he's trying to hold off and preserve his dignity when Brendon whispers "Yeah, that's it, come on," and it's over in a matter of seconds.

"So, um, wow," Spencer says, after a minute or two where he's mostly just focused on breathing. "That was. Yeah."

"Yeah," Brendon says. He pulls his hand slowly out of Spencer's boxers, inspecting it critically. Spencer's not really sure what he's doing until Brendon sort of licks across his knuckle, curling his tongue in between his first and middle finger.

Spencer whimpers.

"Hmm?" Brendon says, raising an eyebrow. "Oh. Oh. Shit. Sorry. Did that freak you out?"

"No," Spencer says faintly. "No, I'm cool." He wants to verbalize that it's the hottest thing he's ever seen, Brendon licking at his fingers delicately like Spencer is some kind of rare treat, but he's not really sure how you phrase that sort of thing.

Brendon looks down at his hand, and then back up at Spencer. "You--want to try it?" Brendon says hesitantly. "I mean. Not that you have to! But like. Uh. You--taste good. Or. Or we taste good, I guess." He's blushing almost to the tips of his ears.

Spencer thinks about it for a few seconds, then pulls Brendon's hand towards him before he loses his nerve. Brendon bites his lip as he watches Spencer slowly, carefully taste them on his fingers. It's sharp and bitter, with an underlying flavor of musk.

"So?" Brendon prompts, after a few seconds.

"Weird," Spencer says, after thinking about it for a minute. "Like. Not bad? But also weird."

"I can dig that," Brendon says. "It's like. I think it's an acquired taste." He says it casually, but all Spencer can think about is how many times Brendon must have hooked up with other dudes, if he's so blase about liking the taste of come. Spencer pushes down a sharp stab of jealousy.

This isn't a thing, he reminds himself. It's just sex. Not a thing.

"We should get cleaned up," Brendon says eventually, and Spencer nods. They're both sticky and gross. Spencer wonders if this is when it gets awkward, if this entire weekend is going to be them dancing around one another, punctuated occasionally with hot sex. They'd promised each other it wouldn't be, but now that Spencer's covered in his own come with Brendon on his lap, it seems like a false hope.

"Hey, hey," Brendon says, snapping his fingers in front of Spencer's face. Spencer blinks. "Earth to Spencer. Shower, yes?"

"Sure," Spencer says. Brendon strips off his underwear as he gets up, making a face as he balls it up into one hand. "I am going to have to do so much laundry this weekend," he says sadly.

Spencer nods. He pulls his own boxers down and while it's definitely weird to be just like, hanging out naked with Brendon in his living room, Spencer's mostly distracted by watching Brendon's ass. He's always envied the way Brendon's so weirdly comfortable in his own skin. Not that Spencer isn't, but there's something totally natural about watching Brendon just do his thing, padding naked to the bathroom, stopping to pick up towels on the way. It's something about the way he moves. It makes Spencer's hands itch to touch him.

Brendon follows him into the bathroom, and Spencer's confused for a minute until he realizes that Brendon intends for them to shower together.

"Oh," Spencer says, stupidly, even though Brendon hasn't said anything.

"Hmm?" Brendon says. He's testing the water with one hand. "This is cool, right?"

"No, it's--it's fine, yeah, I'm cool," Spencer says. And it is. It's just that somehow he'd thought this would be more--more clinical, maybe. Instead, it feels like one of those awesome first dates when you just click with the other person and end up spending the entire weekend in bed, only tearing yourself away when the real world finally intervenes.

It's mildly worrying.

Showering with Brendon, on the other hand, is oddly enjoyable. He keeps flicking water in Spencer's face, and besides the fact that they're naked, it feels pretty normal.

Brendon only kisses him once, just a quick press of his lips as they're stepping out. Spencer ducks his head, because he's sure he's smiling like an idiot.

"So, uh," Brendon says. "I didn't know if--you can sleep on the couch, if you want. I mean. It's up to you, really. I would offer you Shane's old room, but they took the bed with them. Obviously."

"Oh, um," Spencer says. He hasn't thought that far ahead. His first impulse is to go sleep in Brendon's bed, with Brendon, but that feels a little--dangerous. Like Spencer's making more out of this than he really should be. If he's not careful, he's going to end up completely fucking himself over.

"The couch is fine," Spencer fumbles. "Yeah. I mean. That's cool."

"Sure, no problem," Brendon nods. Spencer can't decide if he's imagining the faint undertone of disappointment in Brendon's voice. "You know how it works, right? You just pull it out--"

"Brendon," Spencer says, cutting him off. "I stay here all the time. I know how to work the couch."

"Yes." Brendon says. "Right. Totally." He's blushing a little.

It's only when Spencer gets back to the living room that he realizes he did a terrible job packing. If he wants to make it through the weekend without going commando, he's going to have to sleep naked. He thinks about asking Brendon if he can borrow some shorts, but his bedroom is all the way on the other side of the house and Spencer's abruptly exhausted. He tosses the cushions off and pulls the couch out into a bed. His bed. He doesn't know when he started thinking about it as his, but the fact remains that when he gets under the sheets, they already smell like him.

\---

Spencer wakes up to the best blowjob of his life. He makes a lot of undignified noises and possibly humps Brendon's head a little before coming directly down his throat.

It's both awesome and seriously embarrassing.

"Jesus fuck, warn a guy," Spencer rasps out, and Brendon snickers. He's licking his lips a little. "Good morning to you, too."

"Morning," Brendon says. He's sitting on Spencer's legs. "Or afternoon, really. It's almost one."

"Okay," Spencer says, still trying to catch up to the conversation. His legs feel all shaky. "We, uh. Do we have plans for today?"

"That depends on you," Brendon says, and smirks. "Are you ready to have the Big Gay Sex Talk?"

"Can I have some coffee first?" Spencer says. "Or does this have to happen before I've brushed my teeth?"

"It's more fun this way," Brendon says. He's wearing a loose pair of shorts and tapping his fingers on Spencer's bare thigh. "Also, less stressful. By the way. Did you know you're totally naked?"

"I noticed," Spencer grumbles. He sits up and tries to swat at Brendon. He misses. "I kind of forgot to bring extra underwear. And, uh. Clothing."

"Kinky," Brendon says mildly. He reaches down to the floor beside the couch-bed and comes back up with a mug of coffee. "If I give you this, will you stop being so grouchy?"

"Yes," Spencer says. It smells delicious. His mouth waters. "Brendon," he pleads. "Stop being a dick. Give me the coffee."

"With great power comes great responsibility," Brendon intones, guiding it carefully into Spencer's waiting hands. "So. Topping or bottoming?"

"Jesus," Spencer chokes out, trying his best to swallow without covering himself in coffee. "Fuck, Brendon, I don't know."

"Spence, I'm just fucking with you," Brendon says, and grins widely. He slaps Spencer's leg. "Seriously though, we have to talk about it sometime."

"Can I have breakfast first?" Spencer says, weakly. He's so confused, barely awake and still a little shaky from his orgasm.

The more Spencer wakes up, the more he wishes Brendon had woken him beforehand, so he could have actually enjoyed it and possibly reciprocated. All Spencer can remember is a hazy feeling of dreaming about--something, and how fucking awesome it felt, but it feels sort of like cheating that he wasn't actually appreciating that it was Brendon making him feel so good.

"I want eggs," Brendon says, as he's standing up. He stretches out with his hands behind his head. Spencer tries not to stare. "You want eggs?"

"I like eggs," Spencer says, and then considers smacking himself in the face. Seriously. Spencer kind of wants to figure out where all of his conversational skills went. His brain and his mouth no longer seem to connect around Brendon.

Spencer tries again. "Are you going to put milk in them?"

"You're such a heathen," Brendon says. He shakes his head, giving Spencer a deeply disappointed look.

"I try," Spencer says.

\---

 

Spencer eats his eggs and tries to concentrate on breakfast. It's tough, because he's distracted. Spencer had said he was up for everything, and he'd meant it. The problem is, he's not really sure what "everything" entails. Does Brendon want to fuck him? Is he supposed to be fucking Brendon? It's a confusing, complicated mess in his head, laced with the ever-present worry of, 'What if I'm really bad at it?'

"I don't know," Spencer says finally, when he can't hold it in anymore.

"About the eggs?" Brendon says. "You ate them last week, dude. I'm telling you. They're way fluffier this way."

"No, about--what you asked before," Spencer says. He's blushing. It's stupid. He should be able to say it out loud. "I just. I've never."

"Say it with me," Brendon says, smirking. "A-nal sex. Dude, it's not that big of a deal. I mean, it's not all that different from doing it with a gi--" he trails off when he sees Spencer's face. Spencer swallows a little. He feels incredibly obvious and exposed.

"Wait, really?" Brendon says, a little quieter. "You've really never--"

"No." Spencer says. He shrugs a little, willing himself to stop blushing. "I mean, it just. I guess it never came up?"

Brendon stares at him for a second, before snickering. Spencer mentally replays his last sentence and then groans.

"Oh my god, you're five," Spencer says.

"You said it," Brendon snorts. "Just never came up, huh?"

"Look, it's just. It's uncharted territory for me, okay? I just don't know--anything," Spencer says, and Brendon breaks out into full-on giggles, snickering into his coffee cup. Spencer rolls his eyes. "Pretend for a moment I'm not talking about my ass," Spencer says. "Just, like, for a second, okay?"

"I'm trying!" Brendon protests, still laughing. "You're making it really hard."

"See, that? That was a dick joke waiting to happen," Spencer says. "And I'm ignoring it. Because I am mentally older than twelve."

"Congratulations," Brendon says. "Did you want a cookie?"

"Not with breakfast," Spencer says. "I'm glad you're finding my pain so entertaining."

"Hey," Brendon says, stopping up short. "You know I'm kidding, right? We don't have to, dude."

"Seriously, if you keep saying that I'm going to think you're trying to back out," Spencer grumps. "I want to, okay? Like. I just have no fucking clue what I'm doing."

"It's okay," Brendon says, He pushes his eggs around his plate. "I mean. I didn't realize you hadn't--I sort of thought, you know, you could fuck me and then it wouldn't be that weird for you. I wasn't trying to be an ass."

"I know," Spencer says. It's not like it's that strange of an assumption. It's just that no one Spencer's dated had ever suggested it to him, so the topic never really came up.

"So uh, anyway," Brendon says, after the silence has gone on long enough to be mildly uncomfortable. "Fuck. Is it just me, or is this suddenly super awkward?"

"It's awkward," Spencer says. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault," Brendon says. "So, hey, you want to take Bogart to the park?"

"Aren't we supposed to be having sex?" Spencer says, before he can think better of it. Brendon snorts. "Uh, I'm not superman, dude," Brendon says. "I mean, thanks, but man can't live on blowjobs alone, or however it goes."

"It's bread," Spencer says, pseudo-helpfully. "Man cannot live on bread alone."

"Right," Brendon says. "That one." He takes a large sip of his coffee. "Seriously, though," Brendon says afterwards. "Not that I don't want to fuck, but it's nice out. We should go do something."

"Okay," Spencer says, feeling a little relieved. "I should probably pick up more clothes at my apartment."

"Or I could just make you walk around naked," Brendon says. "You don't really need clothing. I like you better without it."

"Kinky," Spencer replies, mimicking Brendon's earlier comment. "Also, you're an asshole."

"See if I compliment you again," Brendon snorts, getting up to drop his dishes in the sink.

"It's not a compliment if you're kidding," Spencer points out.

"Who says I was kidding?" Brendon says. He raises an eyebrow in Spencer's general direction. Spencer feels his face redden.

"Uh," Spencer fumbles. "I'd get cold?"

"I'll turn the heat up," Brendon leers.

Spencer's struck by a sudden sense of dislocation; he's rinsing Brendon's plate off like he always does, because Brendon's a lazy fucker who can't seem to understand the relationship between rinsing off dishes after using them and a subsequent lack of crusty plates. The conversation between them is just as normal and teasing as it always is--except they're discussing the relative merits of Spencer spending the next twenty four hours entirely naked.

It's both familiar and jarring, the way they seem to be falling into a pattern that replicates everything about their previous relationship. With the addition of really, really good sex.

"Seriously," Brendon says. "Your dick will stay nice and warm, I promise," and Spencer can't help the laugh that tears out from his chest. Everything's so good, and such a mess at the same time. His laughter feels cleansing.

"What?" Brendon says, but he's grinning. "Spencer, what did I say?"

\---

Spencer is firmly convinced that Bogart's general feelings towards dog parks can be summed up in three simple premises:

1) GRASS!!!

2) OTHER DOGS!!!!

3) PEEING!!!

"Did your dog just pee on someone?" Spencer says. "No, really. Did he? Brendon. _Brendon_."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Brendon says, and scoops the slobbery ball away from Bogart's waiting mouth. His tail is whipping back and forth at supersonic speeds. It looks as though it might cause bodily harm, if someone was so foolish as to get within its flight path. "He's just enthusiastic."

"That's like saying you're just a little pregnant," Spencer says. "Something tells me your dog doesn't really understand shades of grey."

"He's just an 'on or off' little dude," Brendon says fondly. "He likes people."

"I like people, too," Spencer says. "I try not to pee on them."

"You should try it sometime," Brendon says easily, and Spencer chokes a little bit.

"What?" Spencer says, after he's certain he did, in fact, parse that sentence correctly.

"Variety is the spice of life," Brendon says. He's grinning at Spencer as he tosses the ball over Bogart's head and into Spencer's waiting hands. "Man, what have you been doing with yourself all this time?"

"Having boring sex, apparently," Spencer says. "You've really--"

"Yup," Brendon says, like it's no big deal. "Gotta try everything once, dude."

"Was it good?" Spencer asks, because he can't not.

"Not really my thing," Brendon says, after a moment. "It was okay, I mean, she really got off on it, so. That part was hot."

"Huh," Spencer says. "Okay." In all their years of friendship, he's never heard any of these stories. It's a little weird; Brendon's prone to boasting about his conquests, usually at inappropriate times, but apparently he's been editing pretty heavily.

(Spencer's honestly surprised it took Brendon this long to crack. He keeps dropping these little nuggets of information between them, like he's waiting for Spencer to freak out and leave, or alternately, like he's thrilled at having someone to finally tell all of his weird dirty stories to.

On the way to the dog park, Brendon had drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and said, "You know what's awesome? Deep-throating. I love that shit, man." In the passenger seat, Spencer had sputtered and choked into his second cup of coffee.)

"Is there anything, like," Spencer says, while he's tossing the ball back. Between them, Bogart ping-pongs back and forth. "What haven't you tried?"

"Ummmm," Brendon says. He looks like he's giving it some serious thought. "Fisting?" He says. "Not that I wouldn't, I mean. But you kind of have to trust someone a whole fucking lot to let them stick their hand up your ass."

"Yeah, I can see that," Spencer says faintly. The whole conversation is still surreal. Then again, everything about Spencer's life right now sort of fits into that category, so Spencer figures he might as well roll with it.

Spencer raises an eyebrow at Brendon in a silent challenge. "I like going down on girls in public."

Brendon's eyes widen, and he fumbles the catch. Spencer feels momentarily superior.

"In public public?" Brendon says. "Are we talking like, public bathroom, or--"

Spencer shrugs. "I went down on Haley in a movie theater," he says. "Uh. More than once."

"Wow," Brendon says. He looks fairly impressed. "Was it hot?"

"Uh, yeah," Spencer says.

"I've never had sex in public," Brendon says. "Well. Do closets count as public places?"

"Depends on if you close the door," Spencer says. "Did you close the door?"

"I have no idea," Brendon says. "I was distracted, dude. Oh my god, and then fucking Ryan, he was standing like right outside the door and I could totally hear him talking about some stupid shit and I was like ungh, fuck, dude, shut up, you're ruining my awesome blowjob mojo--"

"--you did this on tour?" Spencer cackles. "Which tour? With who?"

"Okay, forget I said that," Brendon says quickly. "No one. No one you know."

"Well, at least I know it wasn't me," Spencer says. He catches the ball and then throws it out towards the middle of the park, a high, sailing arc that curves up towards the sun. Bogart takes off like a shot, dodging and weaving. "I would have remembered that."

"Me too," Brendon says. It's suddenly serious between them. Spencer feels a tiny jolt in the pit of his stomach, just from the way Brendon's looking at him.

The moment is broken when Bogart returns triumphant, dropping the slobbery ball on Brendon's bare toes. "Aww, for me?" Brendon says, and scratches him behind the ears. Bogart barks, a quick one-two noise of yes, yes!

Spencer's still thinking about Brendon on his knees in some venue closet; he thinks about how he could have been (would have been) next door, outside in the hallway, completely unaware. He looks over at Brendon and then the scene in his head shifts; suddenly the picture in his head is stark and clear. Spencer can feel the phantom weight of his bangs falling into his eyes, see the flat pane of Brendon's stomach above him as Spencer takes him slowly, carefully into his mouth. The concrete would be digging into his knees through his jeans but Spencer wouldn't even care. And god, fuck, it would have been good. It would have been _so_ good and maybe Brendon would have gotten a little rough, sloppy, pulling on his hair--

"Spencer?"

"Ungh," Spencer says, and blinks. Brendon's standing next to him, Bogart's leash in one hand, Bogart panting happily on the end of it. "Sorry. Yeah. We leaving?"

"Yeah," Brendon says, and it's a little lower than normal. "I was thinking we should head home." It's an entirely innocuous sentence, but something about the way Brendon says it makes it sound like a promise.

"Yeah, me too," Spencer says, and nods a little, like he's totally in control of himself, like he's not uncomfortably half-hard in his jeans just from thinking about going down on Brendon.

 

"Forward, my friend, your chariot awaits," Brendon says, motioning with a wave of his hand like he's introducing someone important on stage. "We need to stop by your place, right?"

"Yes," Spencer says, after a beat. "I need socks. And pants."

"You don't need pants," Brendon says. "I told you. Pants-free weekend."

"Uh-huh," Spencer says.

\--

"So, hey," Brendon says, after they've ransacked Spencer's room for clean clothing. Spencer cuts him off with, "If this is about deep-throating, Brendon, I swear to god--"

"It's not," Brendon says, smirking a little. He's holding a plastic bag filled with Spencer's clothing while Spencer fumbles with the lock on his front door. "Why, is that something you wanted to discuss?"

"I--no." Spencer says. "Yes. I don't know. Maybe."

"It probably wouldn't be that hard for you," Brendon says conversationally, like he's actually thinking about it. "I mean, you've got a pretty big mouth. You'd just have to learn to relax your jaw--"

"I'm going to kill you and hide the body," Spencer growls. "I am trying to do something here, asshole." The lock finally clicks into place, after a good thirty seconds of trying. Spencer really needs to replace it.

"Look," Brendon says, still smirking as they walk back to his car. "If I sat you down and made you have the Big Gay Sex talk with me, you'd freak out, right? I'm doing this for your own good."

"I think you're doing it because I'm less likely to strangle you in public," Spencer mutters.

"Man, you're pissy today," Brendon says. "Someone needs another orgasm."

"Oh my god," Spencer says. "Never fucking say that again, seriously. You just sounded like my mother."

"Really?" Brendon snorts. "Does she say that to you a lot?"

"No." Spencer says. "I mean, she'll be like 'Someone's having a case of the Mondays!' or whatever, but the point is, you're a creepy motherfucker and I don't know why we're friends."

"We're friends because you can't live without me," Brendon says confidently. "Also, I have a cute dog."

"You have the cutest dog," Spencer admits, leaning back over the seat to let Bogart lick excitedly at his hand. "Sometimes I suspect it's your only saving grace."

"Harsh, dude," Brendon says. He's fiddling with the radio station as they speed down the freeway. "So, anyway, this one time--"

"Brendon," Spencer says, cutting him off. "Can we just. Not that I don't totally love your stories, but can we maybe just--go home?"

"Oh?" Brendon says, raising an eyebrow at Spencer inquisitively. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Spencer says softly. He doesn't know how to explain that he's not great at talking about it; he can joke and tease with the best of them, but Spencer's kind of terrible at serious conversations about sex. Brendon should know this by now--Spencer's certainly been outdoing himself in that regard lately--but Spencer can't think of a way to spell it out without implying he's not interested in everything Brendon's suggesting.

"I just," Spencer tries. "I'm better at just kind of. Of. Learning by doing?"

"The hands-on approach," Brendon jokes, but his eyes darken. "I can see that."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "Look, I'll make you a deal." He can feel the blush rising on his cheekbones, but he's not sure how else to phrase it. "I'll tell you straight up if I don't want to do anything, okay? But I, uh. I'd really like it if we could just--go home. And, you know. Fuck."

Brendon makes a slightly undignified noise. He's silent for a moment or two, and Spencer almost wants to congratulate himself. It's not often that he manages to leave Brendon speechless.

"We can do that," Brendon says eventually. "I am. I am very okay with that."

"Good," Spencer says. "I'm glad everyone's in agreement."

Behind them, Bogart barks.

"Not you," Spencer says, turning around to glare at him. "You're not invited." In the driver's seat, Brendon laughs so hard he wheezes.

\---

Spencer isn't really sure what to expect once they get inside, but whatever he was expecting, it wasn't the armful of Brendon Urie he ended up with.

"Mmmph," Spencer says, because Brendon's pressing him back against the door and kissing him like he hasn't seen him in weeks. It's pretty hot, actually. Spencer wraps his arms around Brendon's hips and pulls him in closer, and he's just starting to consider if they should even bother taking their clothing off for the first round when he feels something wet on his ankle.

"Dude, your dog," Spencer says, pulling away. Brendon follows his mouth, pushing his hips into Spencer's hands, but Spencer keeps him at a slight distance. "He's licking my feet."

Brendon rolls his eyes and turns to look at Bogart, who is happily curled up in the three inches in between their legs. "You're such a cockblock," Brendon tells him. "Why do I feed you again?"

Bogart looks up at him and whines a little.

"Fine," Brendon says, disentangling himself from Spencer. "You want to go out? You can chill in the backyard." Bogart jumps up at soon as Brendon says "out," taking off down the hallway towards the back door with admirable speed. Spencer leans up against the door and tries to catch his breath.

"Meet you upstairs?" Brendon says, cocking an eyebrow. "Two seconds, I promise."

"It's fine," Spencer says, and pushes his hair out of his face. "I, uh. Yeah." His feet feel a little unsteady as he climbs the stairs to the second floor of Brendon's house.

Standing in Brendon's room feels weird and good at the same time. Spencer doesn't really know what to do—should he just take his clothes off? Is that too forward?--so he ends up just kind of standing there, waiting. He's distracted enough that when Brendon comes up behind him and leans his forehead into Spencer's back, Spencer jumps.

"Hey," Brendon says, just below his ear. "We good?"

"We're good," Spencer says. He nods, even though Brendon can't really see it.

"Awesome," Brendon says. He steps around Spencer and leans up on his toes to kiss him, and Spencer pulls him into the kiss, one arm firm around Brendon's lower back, holding him up. Brendon tastes like the sodas they'd grabbed from Spencer's fridge.

It's not quite as hurried as it was before. Brendon kisses him almost lazily, and Spencer can feel himself relaxing by degrees. Brendon mumbles something into Spencer's mouth, and Spencer has to pull away to say, "What?"

"Bed," Brendon says, reaching around to press at Spencer's lower back and urge him forward. "As in, we should get on it."

"Right," Spencer says. He lets Brendon walk him forward until Brendon's knees hit the side of the mattress, and they fall gracelessly onto its surface. Brendon slips his hand under Spencer's T-shirt, dragging his fingernails over the thin skin on Spencer's side. Spencer hisses, and flips them over so Brendon's on top.

It's better like this; Spencer doesn't have to worry that he's crushing Brendon, even if he knows, rationally, that he won't. Mostly Spencer just likes the way Brendon seems to take charge when he's on top, rolling his hips into Spencer's and pressing a thumb underneath Spencer's jaw so he can have access to more skin.

Spencer wonders how many hickeys he's going to have after this weekend; he definitely already has a couple just from last night, and Brendon seems intent on giving him more. It makes something clench deep in the pit of Spencer's stomach to think about Brendon marking him up, about leaving here on Sunday with the reality of what they did written all over his skin.

"Okay," Brendon says breathlessly, after Spencer's managed to remove both of their respective shirts without any bodily injuries. "I know you said, you just wanted to, but we kind of have to decide how this is going to go."

Spencer bites his lip, but he's almost to that point where he just doesn't give a shit. "I want to blow you," Spencer says, because it's the number one priority on his list right now, all flashing lights and blinking colors. "And then, I want, uh. I want you to fuck me." Spencer's face feels hot, but it's almost worth it to see Brendon's reaction.

Fuck," Brendon says, swallowing hard. "Shit, yes, okay. Yes. Wait, really?"

"Uh-huh," Spencer mumbles, pulling Brendon back in for another kiss. "More making out, less talking." Spencer noses just below Brendon's ear; this close, he can smell Brendon's shampoo and the scent of his skin. Spencer bites down, hard, and Brendon jerks on top of him, rutting into Spencer's thigh.

"Okay," Brendon says faintly. "No talking. Got it."

\---

 

Brendon's pants are complicated.

This shouldn't be news, but Spencer's never had to try and get them off before. It's ironic, because they're just regular dude jeans, nothing like the skin-tight scene pants Brendon used to wear. Spencer still can't seem to get them off. He thinks it has to do with the way Brendon's helpfully (not helpfully) moving his hips.

"Okay," Spencer mutters, and finally presses his arm down across Brendon's hipbones, holding him in place. "Look. Just. Stop." Spencer can feel the way Brendon twitches a little in surprise, but he stays still until Spencer can untangle the damn things from around his knees.

"I was helping," Brendon says, his voice a little strained because Spencer's currently tugging his underwear down. "I figured you might need the extra--Oh, fuck," Brendon says, rolling his head back against the pillow. Spencer hums a little, focusing on the new sensations, the taste of Brendon in his mouth, the feel of him against his tongue. It's both very similar to and entirely unlike going down on a girl. Spencer's not complaining either way. He slowly goes down further, carefully, still holding on to the base of Brendon's dick with on hand so he doesn't choke himself.

"Spencer," Brendon whines out. "Unfffgh." He rolls his hips a little, and Spencer pulls off for a second to breathe. His mouth feels thick and soft when he swallows. Spencer licks his lips and leans back in; he can taste Brendon on the back of his tongue. Spencer loves giving head to girls anyway, but there's something about the fact that Brendon's inside his mouth that's driving Spencer wild.

"God," Brendon bites out, softly, when Spencer starts to slowly move up and down, matching the rhythm of his hands and his mouth. Spencer moans and then pulls off. "Am I doing this right?" he says, because while he doesn't think he's doing badly, Brendon definitely can't come from just this.

"Yeah," Brendon says. He looks down at Spencer and his cheeks are flushed, his mouth slightly open. "Just--Open up your jaw a little bit more, like--Fuck yes, like that," Brendon says. He's got one thumb on the hinge of Spencer's jaw, his hand curving around the base of Spencer's skull, and Spencer leans into the touch.

"Just relax your throat," Brendon whispers, and Spencer closes his eyes and tries to do what Brendon's asking. It's new and strange and also really fucking hot, especially when Spencer manages to take him in almost all the way and then tries out swallowing around him. Brendon actually bucks up with a groan, and Spencer's saved from certain death by suffocation only by his palm holding down Brendon's hipbone.

"You--Spencer," Brendon moans, biting his lip and arching his back. His thighs are starting to tense under Spencer's hand "I--God, I always wanted--"

Spencer closes his eyes. He can see his idle fantasy just behind his eyelids, and being here, now, it feels almost more real than it did earlier. Spencer doesn't know how to explain that it _should have been_, that this is good and perfect between them.

Brendon's hand that isn't on Spencer's head is clenched at his side; Spencer opens his eyes again and tugs at Brendon's wrist, wrapping Brendon's fingers around the base of his own dick. Spencer's still sort of unsure how to actually get Brendon off without help. He thinks he was probably doing okay, but this will be faster. Spencer's dick is heavy between his legs, pre-come smeared against his thigh.

It's almost hotter like this, when Brendon's moaning and tilting his hips up so he can jerk off into Spencer's waiting mouth.

When Brendon comes, it hits the back of Spencer's throat. It's entirely instinctive for Spencer to just swallow, and Brendon jerks up into his mouth and gasps, tilting his head back so Spencer can see the long line of his throat. Spencer thinks distractedly that come definitely tastes better when it's warm.

Spencer sits back on his heels when it looks like Brendon's finally coming down. He licks his lips, still trying to get used to the taste, and then suddenly Brendon's in his lap, licking into Spencer's mouth with a groan. His skin is hot under Spencer's hands, slippery with sweat, and Spencer makes a strangled noise when all that heated skin brushes up against his cock.

Brendon kisses him recklessly, deeply, pulling the taste of himself out of Spencer's mouth. Spencer eventually has to pull back just to breathe.

"You," Brendon says. "Fuck, you--God. You have no idea how hot that was, do you?"

"Uh," Spencer says. He's more distracted by the slide of Brendon's ass against his cock. Brendon's shifting restlessly on his lap, and it feels really good.

"Shit," Brendon says, and tips his forehead against Spencer's. His pupils are wide and dark. "Shit, I want to fuck you." Spencer sucks in a breath. Underneath Brendon, his cock jumps, and Brendon raises one eyebrow and grinds back on him a little.

"Okay," Spencer says. "Yes, okay. Fuck, but you just--"

"I'll take my time," Brendon says softly, biting at Spencer's lower lip. "Trust me. I think I'll be able to get it up again." Spencer presses his face into Brendon's shoulder and nods. He can feel his cheeks flaming, just from the idea of it, Brendon getting him open and ready.

"We should," Brendon says, and slips off of Spencer's lap, tugging with one hand at Spencer's elbow. "This is going to be a lot easier if you're on your stomach."

Spencer nods silently. He stretches out, pillowing his head on his arms. He presses his face into the mattress and tries not to think about how vulnerable he feels. Spencer feels like if this was anyone else but Brendon, he'd be freaking out right now. Maybe he's freaking out a little anyway. He starts when he feels a warm hand on his lower back; try as he might, Spencer can't get the muscles to relax. He shivers.

"Hey," Brendon says, a frown in his voice. Spencer pulls his head up, trying to see what's going on, and then he feels the comforting weight of Brendon draped along his back, not pressing, just wiggling his arms under Spencer's middle so he can hug him. "Hey, hey, don't freak out," Brendon whispers. "It's okay. It's okay, we'll do this some other way."

"I'm not freaking out," Spencer says. It sounds like a lie, even to him. "I'm not."

"Okay," Brendon says. He doesn't push the issue; he just tugs Spencer with him as he rolls to one side, so Brendon's tucked up around Spencer, big-spoon-to-little-spoon style. Spencer tucks his knees up, curling into a ball. He closes his eyes and focuses on breathing. Brendon's hand is still placed low on his stomach, warm and comforting. He's rubbing slow circles into Spencer's skin, and Spencer feels himself gradually start to relax. He's still a little cold, though.

"Can we," Spencer says, then thinks better of asking and just tugs the blankets up over them. It's better this way; Spencer doesn't know why, but it feels a little safer.

"Whatever you want," Brendon says, and presses a kiss to the top of Spencer's shoulderblade. "We don't have to."

"I want to," Spencer whispers. He doesn't know why he's whispering, except that inside their little cocoon of blankets it feels necessary. "I really do, I'm just--Sorry."

"Dude, don't apologize," Brendon whispers back. "It's cool, okay. I get it. I'm about to stick something in your ass. It's kind of weird."

Spencer freezes for a second, and then he can't help it. He bursts out laughing, pressing his face into the pillow. Behind him, he can hear Brendon snickering.

"You're such a freak," Spencer says, but he's relaxed enough to press back into Brendon a little bit, seeking more contact. Brendon snorts, tightening his hand on Spencer's hip. "You love it," he says, and Spencer nods, because, well. Yeah.

 

"We'll do this really slow, okay?" Brendon says. Spencer nods, and shivers again, but this time it's not from the cold. He can feel the way Brendon's pressed all along his back; his half-hard cock is nestled into the crook of Spencer's ass. Spencer presses back a little more, experimentally, and he bites down on his lower lip when Brendon pushes down on Spencer's hip, holding him in place so he can thrust up against him gently.

Spencer can feel the flex of Brendon's thigh muscles against his own, the movement of his hips, and holy fucking shit, that's hot. Brendon makes a low, rumbling noise against his shoulder and Spencer can't hold back the whimper that escapes from his throat.

"You look so good like this," Brendon sighs, nosing at the back of Spencer's neck, pulling his hand off of Spencer's hip to rub his fingertips over the dip in Spencer's lower back. "Shit, Spencer, the things I want to do to you--"

"So do them," Spencer bites out, trying to remember how to breathe. Brendon's fingers are teasing at him lightly, the barest pressure imaginable. Spencer wants more.

"Hurry up and wait, I see how it is," Brendon teases. His hands disappear from Spencer's skin momentarily; when they come back, they're slick and warm and Spencer thinks _ohshit_ and _here we go._

Spencer presses his face into the pillow at the same time as he presses back against Brendon, trying to imply that he wants this without actually having to say it out loud. He can feel Brendon's fingers petting at him, and then all of a sudden Brendon increases the pressure, slipping one finger all the way in and then pausing to let Spencer adjust.

All Spencer can really think is _whoa_.

He's pressing back against Brendon before he's even made a conscious decision to do so; it feels good and it feels weird but Spencer can't seem to stop moving his hips either way. Brendon's finger feels huge inside him, and Spencer thinks about Brendon's cock and can't quite muffle a groan. He can feel the way he's clenching down around Brendon and shit, it's just. It's completely fucking new. Spencer has no basis for comparison.

"God, you're so tight," Brendon says, pressing his face into Spencer's shoulder, scraping his teeth along the ridge. He presses up, curving his finger, and Spencer abruptly feels like his spine has gone liquid.

"Shit," Spencer pants out. "Again, do that again, fuck--" The sensation of Brendon moving his fingers inside of him is sharp and overwhelming.

"More," Spencer pants out. "Come on, please, Brendon--"

 

"Yeah," Brendon says roughly. He's tracing a second finger around Spencer's rim, and he presses in carefully, slowly. Spencer shudders. It's definitely more of a burn now, more of a stretch. Brendon continues for a minute or two, and then pulls his fingers out. Spencer very purposefully doesn't whimper.

"Need more lube," Brendon says, and when Spencer pushes back against him this time around the slide is thick and easy.

"You okay?" Brendon says, and Spencer tosses his head against the pillow and groans out, "I'm fine, Brendon, Jesus."

"Good," Brendon says breathlessly. He pushes at Spencer's hip, rolling him onto his stomach. "Turn over."

"I--okay," Spencer says, too far gone to protest. He knows he's pressing his hips into the air, pushing back against Brendon's hand, but he just doesn't care. He can feel the slight strain in his legs from holding himself up like this, the stretch in his lower back, and it just makes everything feel better.

Spencer can feel Brendon arranging himself somewhere behind him; he's about to go for broke and tell Brendon to just fucking hurry it up already when he hears Brendon mumble something that sounds like "Don't punch me, okay?" Spencer opens his mouth to say _What?_ but the words die on his lips because Brendon is--Jesus Christ, Brendon is totally--

"Oh my god," Spencer groans out. "What the hell are you--oh my god." Brendon's spreading him open and licking at him, and Spencer's pretty sure he's never been more turned on or more embarrassed in his entire life.

He whimpers helplessly; Brendon sinks three fingers in, deep, and then soothes the sting with short, sharp flicks of his tongue and Spencer is suddenly completely certain that he's going to come. His mouth falls open, and he reaches down to grab the base of his cock with something akin to panic, because no, no, they aren't done yet.

Brendon chooses that moment to spread his fingers wider, pointing his tongue and pressing in deep so that it's actually inside him. It's so utterly filthy that Spencer's cock jerks, even as he's squeezing himself frantically, and he finally has to give up and choke out, "Stop, stop, Brendon, fuck, stop--"

"Shit," Brendon says, pulling back. "Are you okay? Fuck, what's, Spencer--"

"I'm fine," Spencer grits out, holding his breath, trying not to move so he won't come by accident. "I'm just. Really fucking close." It takes a moment, but the feeling slowly dies away, leaving Spencer shaky and breathless. "Okay," Spencer says, when he's pretty sure he can stand Brendon touching him again. He feels Brendon's hands on his hips, and then the unmistakable feeling of slick latex against his ass.

"Ready?" Brendon says softly, and Spencer nods frantically, pressing his hips back. He's going to be impressed if he makes it five minutes, and Brendon hasn't even started fucking him yet.

"This is going to sound really stupid," Brendon says. "But take a deep breath, and don't let it out until I tell you. And, uh. Push back against me."

"Oh my god," Spencer groans. "Will you just get on with it, seriously, what does a guy have to do around here to get fucked--Oh," Spencer says, and Brendon's right, his first instinct is definitely to take a deep breath because um, wow.

"Breathe," Brendon says. "Fuck, you're so tight."

"Yeah," Spencer says, "I noticed." Brendon's rubbing at his lower back, smoothing his thumbs over the bunched muscles. Spencer tries to relax into it, but Brendon still feels huge. Brendon rocks his hips a little, and Spencer gasps at the first feeling of movement. "Keep going," Spencer grits out, and Brendon holds onto Spencer's hips and moves slowly, carefully, pushing back into him by degrees.

God, Brendon's inside him, holy fuck.

Spencer closes his eyes and starts to push back, lost in a sea of sensation, of _more_ and _yes_ and _god, right there_. It feels as though everything has narrowed down to this moment, the broken rhythm of Brendon's breath in his ear, the slight roughness of the sheets against his knees. Occasionally he catches mumbles snatches of words, endearments and profanity tumbling out of Brendon's mouth with equal force.

One time--only once--Spencer thinks he hears, _love you._

\---

It's quiet between them, after.

Brendon throws the condom away next to the bed and then curls into Spencer's chest. Spencer pushes his sweaty hair out of his eyes, trying to get his breathing back under control.

Brendon makes an aborted movement, like he's about to get up, and Spencer tugs him in closer. "Stay," he mumbles.

Brendon pushes his forehead into Spencer's chest. "You sure?" he says, and his voice is still a little thick. "You don't like, need your space?"

Spencer thinks about it for a minute, and then shakes his head. "No," he says, pushing his head back to stare up at the ceiling. It's getting on to twilight; the setting sun is dipping below the horizon, sprinkling everything in Brendon's room with a faint shimmer of gold.

"You just fucked me in the ass, and I liked it," Spencer says eventually. "Cuddling isn't going to make that any less gay."

Brendon snorts. "You'd be surprised," he mumbles, but he relaxes into Spencer's body, twining his ankle around the back of Spencer's knee.

Spencer listens as Brendon's breathing evens out. He looks down to see Brendon's eyelashes dark against his cheeks. He's still flushed all the way down to his chest, and Spencer pushes down a sudden, overwhelming feeling of possession.

On top of him, Brendon's chest rises and falls.

Spencer thinks about how perfectly they fit together like this. He thinks about how stupid he was to have never noticed it before, how all their years of sharing space and hotel room beds and couches they'd never gotten it quite right, like they'd been playing Tetris with all the wrong pieces.

Spencer thinks about how he doesn't want this to be over tomorrow.

\---

 

Spencer wakes up to the sharp light of the rising sun through the window, and Brendon rutting sleepily against his thigh.

Spencer just rolls over and pulls him closer, like his hands have already memorized where they need to go.

\---

Afterwards--like, immediately afterwards--Spencer's stomach growls so loudly that Brendon almost falls off the bed laughing. Spencer groans, because Brendon's still tight around his cock, and his laughter is making his muscles clench. It's way too much stimulation for 7 am.

"Should I be offended?" Brendon gets out, still giggling helplessly. Spencer pulls out faster than is probably polite, just to be a jerk.

\---

 

They go for breakfast, because it's way too damn early to cook, and Spencer is starving.  
Brendon has a trail of hickeys covering the right side of his neck, peeking out from beneath the stretched-out collar of his T-shirt. Spencer alternates staring at them in the diner like a big creep, and making love to his coffee.

"Do I need to leave you two alone?" Brendon says, already on his second cup.

Spencer growls a little. "This is all your fault," He points out. "You and your evil, tempting, ungodly ways."

"Oooh, harsh," Brendon says, and flicks his empty sugar packet at Spencer from across the table. They're squished in a tiny two-person booth, and Brendon's feet are tucked in between Spencer's. "You know what I want? Eggs fucking Benedict. I haven't had that in like, a million years."

"Are you sure?" Spencer says, staring skeptically at the menu. It's a decent diner, but Spencer's learned to be wary of mass-produced Hollandaise sauce.

"Of course I'm sure," Brendon says, shrugging. "Why would I not be sure? It looks good, I want some."

"If you throw up later, I'm not holding back your hair," Spencer says. "I'm getting pancakes."

"Come on," Brendon says. "I thought you were trying to live a little?"

"Not before noon," Spencer says. Brendon's tapping the fingers of one hand on the countertop. Spencer reaches out to still them, maybe link his fingers with Brendon's, and then he freezes.

He can't do that.

First of all, they're in public, and second, that was never part of the deal.

Spencer pulls his hand back. Brendon gives him a weird look, and then turns, so he's staring out the window and not at Spencer.

Their food arrives with a minimum of fanfare. Brendon eats like he hasn't seen food for days, which Spencer knows is a lie.

\---

 

Brendon slips his sunglasses back on as soon as they step outside. Spencer follows him to the car, feeling a little unsettled. Brendon's been quiet ever since their food arrived, the sort of loud, deafening silence that suggests he has something to say. Spencer wants to push, but something in him is holding back.

Brendon turns on the radio as soon as they get in the car, rolling the windows down to catch the early-morning breeze. Spencer catches a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror; his hair is a mess, and there's a large bite mark high up on the side of his neck. They really shouldn't have gone out in public like this. At this point, they're just tempting fate.

Brendon turns off the engine when he pulls into his driveway. He pulls the keys out of the ignition, but then doesn't get out right away. Spencer's stomach curls inward; the air in the car feels thick. He knows, with sudden certainty, that shit's about to get messy.

He opens his mouth to forestall it, maybe, to say something ill-considered, but Brendon beats him to it.

"That was," Brendon says, and then shakes his head. "Look, I keep wanting to say 'that was fun,' but that makes me sound like an asshole, doesn't it?"

"No," Spencer says, and looks the other way, out the window. Bogart's peering out at them from the living room, poking his nose under the blinds and barking excitedly. "You're not an asshole."

Brendon laughs, and it's a sharp, ugly noise. "I'm really bad at this part," Brendon says. "Shit, Spencer, I mean--I don't know."

 

"Yeah," Spencer says, because he can't think of anything else to say. His mind is a total, utter blank.

"Maybe you should just--go home," Brendon says. "We shouldn't have--I should have thought this through better."

"We could go surfing," Spencer says, even though it's a terrible suggestion. He doesn't want to spend the day with Brendon at the beach, faking like everything's okay between them.

"Yeah," Brendon says, and tips his head back against the seat. "Surfing."

"Look," Spencer starts, and then trails off. It's hitting him, suddenly, that this was a really bad fucking idea. It's as though Spencer can see the stark line they'd drawn through their relationship, stretching back to when they were just dumb teenagers. _This far, no farther_. And even if that line was a mistake to begin with, even if Spencer's been lying to himself this whole time and ignoring the obvious, the realization that now they have to put it back together leaves a sick taste in his mouth.

"We'll be fine," Brendon says, when it looks like Spencer isn't going to continue. It sounds like he's trying to convince himself, moreso than Spencer. "I said we would be, and we will, this was just--a weekend, right?"

"Right," Spencer says. He wants to say no. He wants to say that he's the one who fucked up, not Brendon, that Brendon shouldn't be the one holding himself gingerly like he's made of glass that's about to break.

"I should--Bogart needs to go out," Brendon says eventually. "I'll see you at the studio tomorrow, okay? I just kind of. I need some time."

"What about my stuff?" Spencer says. He's got his car keys in his pocket; there's nothing stopping him from getting in his car and driving home, but the idea of just leaving like this makes his head hurt. Three hours ago, he had Brendon on top of him, groaning into his mouth and pressing fingertip bruises into his skin.

"I'll bring it with me tomorrow," Brendon says. "Spencer, just--go home, okay? I'm sorry. I should have--I realize this is kind of fucked up. But I mean, what else can we--"

"Yeah," Spencer says. He gets it, he really does. Brendon's preempting the worst of it; he's slicing the line between them sharply, cutting spaces for them to breathe.

Fuck it.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Spencer says, and gets out of the car.

\---

 

Spencer drives back to his apartment on autopilot. He presses down on the clutch, shifts, hits the break, stops at stoplights, and the whole time he's trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. Or maybe it's not that he's trying to figure it out; Spencer's not stupid. He knows Brendon, knows how he works. He shouldn't be surprised. Hell, Spencer's watched him do this so many times, to so many different people. He shouldn't have assumed there'd be a Spencer-shaped exception to the rule.

He shouldn't have, shouldn't have.

The silence in Spencer's apartment is deafening. Spencer shuts the door behind him and lays down on the couch. It's barely 10:30 am; the blinds are shut tight, but he can still see faint lines of sunlight peeking through the cracks. When he turns on the TV, he catches a glimpse of John Cusack's white sneakers set against a carefully manicured lawn, and hits the power button on the remote with perhaps more force than is strictly necessary. Spencer groans and tells the universe that he's not going to go hold up a fucking boombox to Brendon's window. Just, no.

He lies there for a minute and stares up at the white expanse of his ceiling. He's tired, even though he slept for probably sixteen hours. He feels slightly hollow.

Spencer gets up after a few minutes and turns on his PS3, waiting until he's sure the loading screen will be visible to turn his flat-screen back on. He's two-thirds of the way through God of War II, and the new one's coming out in a few weeks. Spencer figures it will probably take him fourteen hours, more or less, to beat the game. It's more than enough time.

Spencer plays until he's completely forgotten about Brendon, about the complicated mess he suspects his life has suddenly become. He plays until he's entirely engrossed in the storyline, thinking only about his next move, his next campaign strategy. It's almost relaxing. His enemies die with satisfying sound effects and enough pixelated gore to keep him entertained.

Around 2, he pauses the game and digs in his pocket for his cell phone. He orders Chinese without actually moving, and then put it back in his pocket and continues playing. When the doorbell rings, Spencer gets up to answer it only after he's successfully killed a pack of twelve Harpies.

His phone rings as he's walking towards the door, and Spencer answers it, thinking it's the Chinese food guy. He's about to apologize for keeping him waiting and reassure him that yes, he's opening the door right now, he really does actually want his Crab Rangoon and Shrimp Lo Mein when Ryan says "Dude, why is your door locked? You never lock your door."

"Yes I do," Spencer says, frowning. "What are you--what?"

"Open your front door," Ryan says. "Your delivery guy is really nice and all, but I think he's getting kind of pissed."

"Why are you-never mind," Spencer says, and opens his front door. He pays for his food and apologizes for the wait. Ryan follows him in.

"Hi," Spencer says. He sets the food down on the table. "Can I help you?"

"Maybe," Ryan says. "Are you going to eat all of that?"

"Probably," Spencer says. "I was also planning on drinking myself into a stupor and falling asleep on the couch." Spencer doesn't really feel like editing. He loves Ryan, he really does, but he's in a shitty mood.

Ryan snorts. "What, did you and Brendon have another lover's quarrel?"

"Fuck you," Spencer says, without thinking. He presses his lips together and then sticks his whole head in the fridge while he searches for the beer.

From behind him he hears, "Dude, I was kidding." It comes out muffled, like Ryan's talking with his mouth full.

"Did I say you could eat that?" Spencer says, once he's managed to rescue four beers from the depths of his fridge.

"No," Ryan says. "But you thought it. Somewhere deep inside."

 

"You're a pain in the ass," Spencer says. He's not actually pissed about the food. He always orders more than he can possibly eat in one sitting.

"Yes," Ryan says. "But I brought weed." He shakes his head a little, so Spencer can see the large joint tucked into his curly hair, behind his ear. "I was going to ask you if you wanted to go get some food, but this is better."

"I'm glad you approve," Spencer says, and cracks open a beer. He drinks it in two large swallows, and then sets it aside and reaches for the Lo Mein. He realizes as he does so that he's still wearing the same clothing from earlier; Ryan has to be able to see the huge fucking bite mark on his neck.

He freezes for a moment, and then decides he doesn't give a fuck. If Ryan's not going to bring it up--and Spencer suspects he won't--then it's fine. It could have come from anyone, really.

Ryan keeps up both sides of the conversation while Spencer's eating, answering himself when it looks like Spencer isn't going to. It's a slightly annoying habit, one he's been perfecting since Spencer learned how to really sulk at the tender age of sixteen. Spencer always wants to point out that out of the two of them, Ryan's almost better at sulking then Spencer and thus shouldn't be throwing stones, but he lets it go. Besides, sometimes Ryan says really entertaining shit to himself, and then Spencer gets to make fun of him later.

"I'm glad you agree, Spencer," Ryan says. "Jon doesn't appreciate the genius of velvet suits for the tour."

"Okay, no," Spencer cuts in. He's on his second beer, and possibly starting to get a little drunk. "No. I definitely don't support that."

"But you just did," Ryan says, with a small smile. "I heard you. You were like 'Oh, yeah Ryan, that's a great idea, you look so nice in purple--'"

"Oh, fuck you," Spencer says, but he's laughing.

"No one appreciates my art," Ryan says placidly. "You want to smoke?"

"Yes," Spencer says. He feels good, a little lightheaded, a little fuzzy around the edges. He feels good because he's not thinking about Brendon. "I would definitely like to do that."

"Onward and upward," Ryan agrees, and flicks his lighter.

\---

 

Later, some indeterminable time later, Ryan asks: "Should I be trying to be all supportive and shit?" It sounds like he's talking underwater.

Slooooowly.

"No," Spencer says. "I'm fine, Ryan."

"Because I do," Ryan says, after a long pause. "Support you. And things."

"Thank you," Spencer says, very seriously. He's really stoned. He kind of wants to hug Ryan and maybe cry a little bit. In a manly way.

Wait, no. Bad idea.

Shit, Spencer's really stoned.

"Anytime," Ryan says.

\---

 

Spencer wakes up the next morning to an empty apartment, the sound of his alarm blaring, and a pounding headache.

He blinks, and reaches one hand out to slap at his phone ineffectually. He finally makes contact, and his alarm cuts off abruptly. Spencer lays there and tries to piece together the progression of last night's events, the ones that obviously ended with him stumbling off to his own bed. He remembers Ryan falling asleep on his couch, but he suspects he left a few hours ago. Ryan has this weird habit of waking up in the early morning and disappearing off to wherever he came from, and Spencer can count on one hand the number of times he's found Ryan still asleep on his couch past 8 am.

It's 10:52 AM. Spencer stares at his phone again, and tries to remember why he set it so goddamn early, when the reality of the situation comes crashing down on him. The studio. He has to be at the studio, at noon, with Brendon.

Fuck.

 

Spencer tells himself very firmly that he needs to get up and be responsible and face this mess he's created for himself.

Which is to say, he rolls over and goes back to sleep.

\---

 

The second time he wakes up, it's to Brendon shoving roughly at his shoulder and calling him an asshole.

He sounds like he means it, too.

"Wha," Spencer mumbles, and Brendon repeats, "You're such an asshole."

Spencer opens his eyes to see Brendon sitting on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, shoulders drawn up tight. He looks quietly furious.

"Look," Brendon says. "Look. I know I was a dick yesterday, okay, I get that, but you're a fucking--I can't believe you, Spencer. I didn't think you were seriously capable of pulling this shit."

"What?" Spencer says again, and then fumbles around for his phone. The time at the top says 2:35 PM. "Oh, shit," Spencer groans out, letting his phone fall back down on the bed. "Fuck, Brendon, I'm sorry, I totally overslept--"

"Yeah, okay," Brendon says. "You expect me to believe that? You've never not shown up to the studio, never, not even when you had that death flu and we had to send you home. Or when Ryan and Jon were being dicks about everything and half the time we knew we wouldn't even get time in to work, because they wouldn't show up, or--"

"It was an accident," Spencer says, keeping his eyes closed. It wasn't an accident, not really, but he doesn't know what else to say. "Brendon--"

"Some accident," Brendon says. Spencer feels movement near his feet, and the feeling of Brendon moving back and getting up off the bed. Spencer opens his eyes to see Brendon standing in front of Spencer's bedroom window with his hands in his pockets. His back is to Spencer.

"This was a really fucking bad decision," Brendon says softly. "I can't even--I can't even remember the last time we fought like this, and right now I just want to fucking strangle you."

"Me too," Spencer says, and then winces. It's true, though--he wants to shake Brendon until he can make him see some fucking sense. He wants to shake himself until he can figure out the right thing to say.

"So what the hell do we do now?" Brendon says, and when he turns back to Spencer his expression is closed off, almost blank. It makes something clench deep in Spencer's chest, because he knows that expression. He's seen it a thousand times. He can't be the one responsible for it.

"I don't know," Spencer says. "Brendon, I have no fucking idea."

Brendon's silent for a long moment. "You didn't oversleep, did you," he says eventually.

"No," Spencer admits. "Maybe. I don't _know_, Brendon, I just couldn't--"

"Couldn't what?" Brendon says. "Face me?"

"_No_," Spencer says. "Fuck, Brendon, will you give it a rest? It's not about that. I'm not ashamed. I'm not freaking out because we had sex and you happen to have a dick."

"Seems like it from here," Brendon says, and Spencer seriously wants to punch him in the face.

"I couldn't go back to the way it was," Spencer growls. "Okay? I couldn't deal with having to be around you and pretending I didn't want to kiss you, or touch you, or whatever. I can't pretend it never happened."

Spencer can tell the instant Brendon realizes what he's said, what Spencer's just admitted to. All of the fight goes out of his frame, and he suddenly looks small and fragile. Brendon stares at Spencer. He opens his mouth to speak, but Spencer cuts him off.

"You said you loved me," Spencer continues, quieter this time around. "I know you're going to lie, and say I was hearing things, but. I heard it."

"I--"

"I can't pretend after something like that," Spencer says. "I'm not going to sit here and fake it while we dance around each other."

"Fake what?" Brendon says. His voice cracks a little.

"That I'm not in love with you," Spencer says, and his voice only shakes a little. It feels so strange to just throw the words out there, heedless of where they might end up. Spencer's never been this reckless. A tiny part of his brain reminds him that it's been maybe forty-eight hours; but it hasn't, really. It's been years and years.

"I didn't think--" Brendon says, and then stops. "I didn't mean for you to hear that," he says quietly.

"But did you mean it?" Spencer presses. "Or is that just something you say to every--"

"Yes," Brendon says.

"Oh," Spencer says.

"Yeah," Brendon says. He sits down on the side of Spencer's bed, resting his elbows on his knees and ducking his head down. He looks a little overwhelmed.

Spencer can relate. He turns his head and looks out the window, staring at his neighbor's ugly picket fence. He concentrates on breathing.

"So," Brendon says eventually. Spencer turns his head and looks at him, and in that moment he realizes he's tired of thinking.

"Come here," Spencer says. He sits up and reaches out, tugging on Brendon's sleeve. Brendon turns in towards him at the same moment. It feels like Spencer blinks; one moment they're separated by too much space, and in the next Brendon's kissing him, hands curled around Spencer's biceps. His fingertips dig into Spencer's bare skin.

Spencer closes his eyes. He feels Brendon's hands on his skin, cradling the base of his skull, and Spencer kisses him back and holds on.

\---

Later, some time later, Brendon whispers, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Spencer mumbles back, the words slipping in between open-mouthed kisses. "I got laid."

Brendon laughs against his mouth. "No, for real," Brendon says. "I was a dick."

"No, for real, I don't care," Spencer mumbles. "We'll figure it out."

"You think?" Brendon says, and it sounds like he's actually asking, like he's not sure of the answer.

"Yeah, I do," Spencer says. Against him, Brendon is sweaty and warm. Their feet are tangled together. Spencer thinks about how there are still rough places between the two of them, sharp edges that sex isn't going to smooth out.

He thinks about it, and then he decides he doesn't give a shit.

"We'll figure it out," Spencer repeats, just in case.

"Okay," Brendon says, but he's smiling against Spencer's mouth. "Okay, Spencer Smith. Okay."


End file.
